


Closing In

by MourningElegance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Confessions, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Guardian Severus Snape, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley Friendship, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hurt Harry, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentor Remus Lupin, Mentor Severus Snape, Nightmares, Occlumency, POV Harry Potter, POV Severus Snape, Past Child Abuse, Protective Severus Snape, Revelations, Sick Harry, Sickfic, Slow Build, The Golden Trio, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7755385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MourningElegance/pseuds/MourningElegance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Lupin had been unable to teach Harry the Patronus charm, and the job had instead fallen to Snape? How would their relationship have grown as Snape came to care for Harry and discovered the secrets of his home life? Alt 3rd year, Snape mentor/guardianship, slight Dursley neglect/abuse. Slow-growing Snape/Harry mentor relationship, plenty of hurt!Harry and protective!Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter slumped down in his chair, absent-mindedly chewing the end of his quill. In the front of the Defense classroom, Professor Lupin paced back and forth, gesturing enthusiastically whilst lecturing on the origins of Boggarts. The class had finished with the practical portion of their first lesson, which Harry had to admit, was more interesting and exciting than any other Defense class he'd attended at Hogwarts. Loads better than Quirrell's ramblings on the dangers of vampires. And Lockhart... well, Harry suspected a slug could teach better than Lockhart. Either way, Lupin didn't have much in the way of competition.

The results of an actually engaging lesson were evident throughout the classroom. Even Ron, who normally slept through lectures, seemed to be listening attentively to Lupin. And Hermione was scribbling down notes with even more ferocity than normal, Harry noted with amusement.

Slumping even further in his seat, Harry sighed. Lupin was certainly different than any other professor Harry had encountered. He seemed relatable. Friendly, enthusiastic, and strangely enough for a professor, genuinely funny. Still, Harry couldn't help but feel a bit of resentment toward him. Everybody else in class had been encouraged to face the Boggart during the practical lesson. But when Harry had stepped up, both excited and anxious to take his turn, Lupin had hurriedly pushed him away and defeated the Boggart himself.

Harry frowned at the memory. Hermione hadn't gotten to fight the Boggart either, he reminded himself. However, she hadn't exactly been shoved aside. Picking at the edge of a piece of parchment, Harry lost himself in thought.

Maybe he hadn't been allowed to fight the Boggart because Lupin considered him weak, or cowardly. Harry's gut clenched as he remembered the dementor incident on the Hogwarts Express. He'd collapsed, even though nobody else in the compartment- or the entire train for that matter- had done so. Professor Lupin had fought off the dementor while Harry had just laid there pathetically like a frightened baby. Perhaps that was why Lupin wouldn't allow him to fight the Boggart, Harry mused anxiously. Maybe the professor had decided he was too weak to fight Dark creatures since he couldn't even tolerate the presence of one.

At that moment, Lupin scanned the class and made fleeting, coincidental eye contact with Harry. Feeling his face begin to burn, Harry quickly looked down at his desk and busied himself by pretending to take notes.

"…And that wraps up how Boggarts came to reside in modern day Europe, as opposed to their original origins in ancient Egypt." Harry tuned into what Lupin was saying, realizing with a wince that he'd daydreamed through nearly the entire lecture.

"It seems our time together is up," the professor informed his class cheerfully, leaning against his desk in a rather fatigued manner. "But I'll see you all again this Thursday. For homework, I'd like everyone to read the first two chapters in the Defense text. The readings cover Boggarts and Hinkypunks, which we will be discussing next week. I strongly advise you to take notes," Lupin added with a wry grin. "There just may be a pop quiz in your futures. Class dismissed."

Chatter broke out amongst the students as they began to pack up and disperse. Ron, who was sitting next to Harry, turned to him with a wide smile plastered across his face.

"Wasn't that wicked? I don't think we've ever had a lesson like it! I mean, I kicked that spider's _arse!_ And when Neville imagined Snape in his Gran's dress-"

"Of course that's all you'd care about, Ronald," Hermione interrupted in a mock-haughty tone, plopping her book bag onto the boys' table. "It was more than an amusing lesson. It was absolutely fascinating! I mean, I read the Defense book already, but it didn't cover half of what Professor Lupin told us about Boggarts. I only wish I'd gotten the chance to try casting _Riddikulus._ I hope the rest of the class will be this informative!"

Ron scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I'm sure it will be, 'Mione," he muttered with a frown. "Merlin. Doesn't mean we can't have some fun with it."

Harry smiled, amused at his best friends' bantering. He began packing up his book bag as the two of them continued to bicker mildly. Suddenly, a new voice joined in the conversation.

"So, did you all enjoy the first lesson?"

Harry jerked his head up hurriedly, eyes wide. Professor Lupin stood next to Hermione and Ron, smiling gently. Nearly all the class had already left, with only a few stragglers still present.

Immediately, eyes bright with genuine enthusiasm, Hermione began to reminisce about how wonderful the lesson had been. Ron chimed in with a few off-hand comments, while Harry sat there awkwardly, mind still fixated on how Lupin had pushed him aside earlier. Watching the professor closely, Harry startled when Lupin's curiously amber-colored eyes met his own.

"What about you, Harry?" Lupin addressed him kindly. "Did you enjoy the lesson?"

Face burning, Harry nodded rapidly as he grabbed his bag and stood up in one fluid motion. "Yeah," he muttered, looking down at the ground. "It was real good."

Harry's comment sounded stupid even to himself. All he could think of was getting away from the room, and Lupin, as fast as possible. Turning to Ron and Hermione, who both looked at him with open confusion, he clenched his teeth.

"We'd better go, or we'll be late to Potions."

With that, Harry spun around and walked quickly toward the classroom door. The back of his neck prickled uncomfortably as he listened to Hermione hurriedly apologize to Lupin. Exiting the room, Harry groaned lightly as he rounded the hallway corner and leaned against the stone wall. _Stupid,_ he chided himself. If Lupin didn't think he was an idiot before, he certainly did now.

Footsteps rushed up behind Harry, and in a moment, Ron and Hermione stood beside him.

"What was that about, mate?" Ron questioned, adjusting his robes, which had gone askew during his sprint down the hall. "Potions doesn't start for another fifteen minutes at least."

Harry tried his best to look nonchalant. "I… I just don't want to be late. You know how Snape gets in a foul mood when we're late."

Ron snorted. "Come on, it's Snape. Is he ever _not_ in a foul mood?"

"I just don't want to be late, ok?"

"Really, Harry, you're being a right pain in the-"

Ron's comment was cut off with a sharp yelp of pain as Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. Rubbing his side, Ron scowled furiously at her.

"Honestly Ron," she huffed. "Can't you tell something's bothering Harry?" Turning toward Harry, Hermione gave him a half concerned, half exasperated look. "What's really the matter?"

Harry groaned. Explaining his concerns to Hermione was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. "Nothing's wrong, I swear," he said rather sharply. "Just drop it, Hermione."

Hermione's face fell, and for a moment, Harry felt a bit guilty for snapping at her. However, within seconds, Hermione's expression had changed from hurt to haughty. With a 'humph!' of indignation, she jerked her head away. "Fine, be that way," she sighed. "I was only trying to help."

Embarrassed, Harry stared intently at his feet. The trio stood in awkward silence for a moment before Hermione glanced at her wristwatch.

"If we don't leave now, however, we _will_ be late."

With that, she turned away and flounced down the hall. Hurriedly, Ron and Harry trailed after her.

"I hate Potions," Ron complained to Harry as they made their way downstairs to the dungeons, his annoyance with the other boy already entirely forgotten. "Especially the first lesson of the year. Snape always gives some sort of quiz. Like we should really be expected to memorize the entire bloody book over vacation. And I'll probably get a Dreadful on my summer assignment. Honestly, as if anyone could write four bloody feet on the differences between healing balms and potions."

Pushing a lock of bushy hair aside, Hermione frowned at Ron in mild annoyance. "Four feet isn't that bad, especially considering how large your handwriting is. And you're not expected to memorize the text, but you should at least read it! I found time to read the entire book during my vacation."

"Of course you did, 'Mione. Reading is all you do."

Abruptly, Harry stopped in the middle of the hallway, realization suddenly dawning. Heart pounding, he flung his book bag off his shoulder and hurriedly began to dig through it.

Hermione frowned. "Forgot to finish your summer assignment?"

Harry shook his head rapidly, continuing to rifle through his things. "No, I think I left it in Defense. I was finishing it up at the beginning of Lupin's lecture, and I packed up in such a rush..."

"Snape's going to _murder_ you, mate," Ron said, sounding nearly amused.

Harry dug for a moment more, then sighed and slung his bag back over his shoulder. "I'm doomed," he agreed without hesitation. Snape loathed missing work. And he loathed Harry. Bad combination. And Harry highly doubted Snape would listen to any sort of explanation.

Even Hermione, still irritated with Harry, and who normally would've scolded him for such carelessness, seemed to understand the severity of the situation. "Think you can run and get it in time?" she questioned.

Harry bit his lip and glanced at his watch. "Probably not, but it's not like I have much of a choice. Maybe I can get a note from Lupin, or something."

Hermione nodded briskly. "We'd best head off though. Sorry we can't wait, but..."

Harry nodded. "Go on ahead- I'll try and hurry." With that, Harry turned around and began jogging down the hallway, heading back towards the Defense classroom. If it had been any other assignment he'd forgotten, he wouldn't have even bothered returning to retrieve it with such little time left between classes. He'd have just explained what had happened to the appropriate professor and risked getting scolded a bit. Better than facing Lupin after the way he had left the Defense classroom earlier. Now Lupin was probably going to consider Harry careless as well as cowardly.

Harry jogged up a staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Still, he thought to himself, he had some sense of self preservation. Choosing between facing scorn from Lupin or Snape, he'd choose Lupin in a heartbeat, bad opinions and all. Panting slightly from his sprint upstairs, Harry slowed his jogging as he reached the Defense classroom. The door was shut, and uncertain as to whether or not Lupin was even in his room, Harry hesitated to enter. Swallowing heavily, he reached up to knock, but before his hand could even touch the wooden door, a voice called out from within the room.

"Come right in!"

Starting slightly, Harry wiped his palms on his trousers before pushing the door open. The classroom was empty save for Lupin, who was sitting at his desk doing some sort of paperwork.

"Hello Harry," Lupin addressed him, setting down his quill. "What can I do for you?"

Still hanging in the door frame, Harry quickly glanced towards the table he'd sat at during class and felt his stomach drop when he saw his essay wasn't there.

"Er... well, I reckon I left my Potions assignment in here," Harry began, shuffling his feet nervously. "But I could be wrong. Sorry. I didn't mean to forget it or anything, and I don't want to bother you. But if I don't find it, Snape will kill me."

Lupin smiled kindly. _"Professor_ Snape, Harry. And you're no bother at all."

Harry shrugged awkwardly, not knowing how to respond to that.

"And luckily," Lupin continued, "I happened to find your essay whilst tidying up after class." Shuffling through some papers on his desk, Lupin held up Harry's essay with a triumphant grin. "It seems as though you won't have to face Professor Snape's famed wrath today."

Harry managed a crooked smile at that and felt his nerves lessen slightly. Really, he thought to himself. Lupin seemed nice enough. Even if the professor thought Harry was a coward, shouldn't he be working to disprove that, instead of running out of classrooms like some sort of wimp? What kind of Gryffindor was he?

Feeling rather embarrassed with himself, Harry walked up to Lupin's desk and accepted the offered parchment.

"Thanks," he murmured, shoving the essay into his bag.

"You're quite welcome," Lupin replied mildly. However, he studied Harry's face with an intensity that had Harry looking away to avoid his gaze.

"I'd best head off to Potions, sir," Harry said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Thanks for finding my essay," he added with a hesitant grin. "You're right- I wouldn't want to face Professor Snape without it. He doesn't care for me much as is."

Lupin nodded slowly at this. "Of course," he murmured, almost to himself. "Well, I'll see you again soon, Harry. Don't forget to do the readings for our next lesson."

"I won't, Professor," Harry promised. "Thanks again." Turning to leave the room, he hesitated for a moment, remembering his previous musings. Now, his concerns seemed rather silly. Lupin didn't seem angry or disappointed with him in the least. Rather, the Professor acted friendly, and seemed eager to help. Frowning slightly, Harry paused at the door to the classroom, questions storming through his head.

Curiosity and confusion won over conflict. Mustering up his courage, Harry turned back around. "Professor Lupin," he spat out quickly, before he could change his mind. "Do you mind if I ask you a quick question?"

The professor looked up from his papers in surprise, but after a moment, smiled gently. "Not at all," he replied.

Harry swallowed. "Well… I was just wondering why you didn't let me fight the Boggart in class today. I mean, I don't really care or anything, but everyone else got to, and I know I could have done it if you'd let me, and I don't mean to sound bratty or anything but I just thought that maybe-"

"Harry," Lupin cut him off, eyes wide. "Take a breath and calm down a moment."

Harry flushed, realizing he'd been rambling. "I just… I thought maybe you thought I couldn't do it or something. That I was too weak." Looking down at the floor, he avoided making eye contact with his professor.

Slowly setting his quill down on his desk, Lupin sighed. "I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression, Harry," he said gently. "I don't think you're weak at all. Quite the contrary, in fact. I'm certain you could have fought the Boggart off, but I didn't want the class in a panic if they saw Lord Voldemort suddenly appear."

Harry jerked his head up, eyes wide, as everything suddenly clicked into place. "Oh," he said softly. "I get it. That makes sense. I didn't even think of Voldemort though, to be honest. I reckon my Boggart would have been a dementor."

"Ah," replied Lupin, eyes widening with understanding. "I see. Dementors are indeed frightening creatures. After the incident with them on the Hogwarts Express, I can imagine they would be quite fearful for you."

Harry nodded, feeling as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Yeah, that's why I was confused when you didn't want me to fight it earlier. I thought maybe because I couldn't stand being near the dementor on the train, you didn't think I could fight the Boggart form of it either."

Lupin closed his eyes as if in pain. "I sincerely apologize, Harry. Giving you that idea was not my intention."

Opening his eyes, the professor regarded Harry seriously. "And another thing, Harry. You should know that dementors are amongst the Darkest of creatures in this world. They quite literally feed off people's fears and unhappy memories. Because of this, those of us who have experienced and seen true horrors in the past are more susceptible to them than others. You are not weak, Harry. I promise you that."

Harry swallowed harshly, remembering how hopeless he'd felt when the dementor was near him. How cold and frightened he'd been, with that woman's shrill screams echoing through his head…

"Is- is there a way to fight off dementors, Professor?" Harry asked hesitantly. "I know you cast something at the one on the train, when it came into our compartment. Ron and Hermione told me about it. Do you think you could maybe teach me to fight them too?"

Lupin studied Harry intently, eyes filled with an emotion Harry couldn't quite place.

"I don't pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry," Lupin answered weakly after a moment. "Quite the contrary, in fact."

"Please, Professor?" Harry pleaded. "I have to know how to fight them off- how to defend myself. I can't be helpless like that if I see them again, I just- I just can't." Harry looked away from the professor, blinking rapidly.

"Harry, learning to fight a dementor… it's highly advanced magic. It is not something we normally teach at Hogwarts, let alone to a third year like yourself."

"I know," Harry replied fiercely. "But I have to try." He lifted his head up, looking Lupin directly in the eyes. "Please?"

Lupin gazed at Harry a moment longer before sighing heavily. "I'll talk with Professor Dumbledore about it, Harry," he conceded. "And see what he thinks about all this. You would need the Headmaster's permission, anyway, before learning such advanced magic."

Harry grinned widely, unable to help himself. "Thank you sir!" he exclaimed, feeling nearly giddy with relief. He would learn to fight the dementors, he promised himself. He wasn't weak.

The professor smiled back. "No promises, however, you are quite welcome. Now, shall I write you a pass to Potions? I don't suppose Professor Snape would much appreciate you arriving twenty minutes late to class without one."

Harry laughed, nodding happily in agreement. "No, I don't think he'd appreciate it at all, sir."

 

* * *

 

Remus Lupin stood in front of the gargoyle which guarded the Headmaster's office. "Sugar Quills," he addressed the gargoyle, who upon hearing the password, slid aside to reveal a set of spiral stairs. With a slight grimace, Remus began making his way up the staircase, dreading the conversation to come. He knew where this conversation would inevitably lead, and what revelations would result from it. But he had promised Harry. And he of all people could relate to the desire to protect oneself against the overwhelming despair dementors wrought.

Reaching the Headmaster's office door, Remus hesitated only a moment before knocking.

"Come in!" a voice called from within.

Swallowing harshly, Remus opened the door. Albus sat behind his desk, sipping a cup of tea.

"Ah, Remus!" he exclaimed happily. "Do come and sit down! Would you like anything to drink- tea, perhaps? I remember you being quite partial to Earl Grey. How was your first day of classes? No problems, I take it?"

Smiling at the Headmaster's chattiness, Remus took the offered seat. "Nothing to drink, thank you," he replied. "And as for my classes, they all went very well. No issues, though there is something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Of course, my boy," the Headmaster replied, eyes twinkling as he took another sip of tea.

Remus drummed his fingers on the desktop. "Well, after class today, I had a discussion with Harry Potter. He asked me if I'll teach him how to defend himself against dementors."

Albus' blue eyes turned stony. "Ah yes," he murmured, setting down his teacup. "I heard about Harry's run-in with the dementors, the poor boy. I do wish the dementors' presence here at Hogwarts were unnecessary, but with the Ministry insisting…"

"Yes, of course," Remus replied reassuringly. "No one blames you in the slightest, Albus. We all understand the necessity, unfortunate as it is."

The Headmaster nodded, though his eyes remained solemn.

"I believe it's important that Harry learn to defend himself from dementors, Albus," Remus continued. "Not because he's in any real danger from their presence here at Hogwarts; I know you'd never allow for that to occur. But with his… history, with what he's experienced in his past… the dementors affect him quite severely. Enough so that his Boggart is actually a dementor. I believe teaching him to produce a Patronus would greatly ease his fears."

"Yes, I quite agree," Albus replied without hesitation. "Of course. You have my full permission to teach Harry."

A knot formed in Remus' gut, and he paused a moment before continuing. "That's the thing, Albus… I myself am unable to teach Harry to produce a Patronus."

The Headmaster frowned slightly, brow furrowing. "That does pose a slight problem, I'll admit" he remarked. "But I do understand, of course. With your transformations and subsequent recoveries, it would be quite difficult for you to take on the strain of additional lessons."

Remus clenched his fists. His condition was certainly cause enough to excuse him from these lessons, but he couldn't live with the guilt if he allowed Albus to believe that were the true reason.

"Actually, Albus, that's not the reason behind my unavailability..." With a shaky breath, Remus continued. "I am unable to produce a Patronus."

The Headmaster glanced up from his tea sharply, looking about as startled as Remus had ever seen him. "What do you mean, Remus?" he questioned. "I understand you were the one who fought the dementor on the Hogwarts Express."

Clenching his jaw, Remus sighed in embarrassment. "I should rephrase. I am unable to produce a Patronus without great strain and effort. On the train, there was only one dementor, and I had the motivation to save Harry. It took a great deal out of me to even produce that Patronus, incorporeal as it was."

Dumbledore studied Remus intently, his eyes piercing. "Remus… I know in the past, you were quite adept at producing a Patronus. What has changed?"

Remus winced, and it took all of his courage to continue speaking. "Since… since James and Lily died, and Sirius… well, since then, I've been unable to cast a true Patronus."

"I am truly sorry for your loss, Remus," Albus murmured softly.

Remus cleared his throat. "It is of little importance," he replied thickly. "The point of the matter is, I am unable to teach Harry, and I know how important it is to him to learn this. Is there any chance you could teach him, instead of me? Or know of someone who could?"

The twinkle reappeared in Dumbledore's eyes as he smiled brightly at Remus. "Not to worry, my boy," he reassured him. "I know of just the person."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting all the chapters I have updated on FF.net and will update on this site as well from now on! :)
> 
> Please read and review if you have the time, I so love reading them! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Severus Snape was having a bad day. Not to imply that this was uncommon in the least; nearly all his days were bad ones. Today, however, was particularly horrible. The day had begun with, of all things, a staff meeting- the first of the year. Snape loathed staff meetings. If it were up to him, he'd have put an end to the ridiculous notion long ago. However, he was made to suffer through them at Albus' firm insistence that his presence was required. Two hours of Sprout and Hooch gossiping to each other from either side of him was enough to ruin Snape's week already. Oh, but the day hadn't ended there.

Half his N.E.W.T class had failed their first exam of the year (imbeciles, the lot of them), and he'd had to send two second year Hufflepuffs to Poppy after they somehow managed to explode their Somnium potion, badly burning themselves in the process. And then, just when he'd thought things couldn't possibly get worse, he had received a missive from Albus, requesting his presence for lunch.

That, at the time, had seemed normal enough. Not necessarily a bad thing. Albus occasionally asked Snape to join him in his office for lunch, as he did with many professors. Generally, it was a tolerable experience. This time, however, seemed to be the exception. After hearing Albus' inane request, Snape doubted he'd ever agree to dine with him again.

"You want me to do _what?"_ Snape snapped, barley keeping his temper in check.

The headmaster smiled, eyes twinkling in that uncanny, impish manner. "I would like you to teach Harry Potter to produce a Patronus," he repeated, voice thick with concealed amusement.

Snape felt his jaw twitch. "And why can't that bloody wolf teach him? If I recall correctly, _he_ is the Defense professor, not _I."_

"Remus is indisposed, I'm afraid."

"Of course he is."

"Come now, Severus," Albus said imploringly. "You are quite capable of producing a Patronus, I'm well aware."

"As are you, Albus," Snape retorted sharply. "I know very well that you're perfectly capable of teaching the boy yourself, and you won't convince me otherwise."

"Ah, Severus. As Headmaster, I find myself simply overwhelmed with obligations," Dumbledore shook his head regretfully. "Not to mention that I would probably spend more time chatting with young Harry than I would actually teaching him! No, you are clearly the best man for the job."

"No. I absolutely refuse."

The Headmaster sighed wearily. "Severus, there are select few professors at this school capable of producing any sort of Patronus, and even less with the skill and experience to successfully teach a third year student. Harry needs someone capable, who understands and can demonstrate the magic required to produce a Patronus. Otherwise, I fear it will be too difficult for him to learn."

Snape pursed his lips, anger toward Albus throbbing throughout every inch of him. "Why in Merlin's name would Potter even need to learn to cast a Patronus?" he finally spat out, desperate for an excuse. "He's a third year, as you said, and his magic is mediocre at best. Teaching the boy would be a waste of both time and effort."

"Harry is quite affected by dementors, Severus," the Headmaster continued patiently. "I'm sure you've heard about his encounter with them on the Hogwarts Express. He came to Professor Lupin and asked if he could be taught some sort of defense against them. Teaching him this will ease his fears, and could prove useful in the years to come," he added, voice heavy with hidden meaning.

The Headmaster sat in silence for a few moments, gazing out the window across his desk before looking Snape directly in the eye. "You talk as if you know Harry so well, Severus, and yet in many ways, you're so very wrong about him."

Snape clenched his hands, digging his fingernails into his palms so hard they nearly drew blood. "I know him well enough to know that he's conceited, arrogant, and disrespectful, just like his father was. I've no desire to teach the boy."

"Really, Severus. Refusing to teach a child because of some silly, schoolboy grudge. What would Lily say if she knew?"

Snape felt his chest constrict painfully, and it was only with long practiced self-control that he managed to restrain from jumping from his seat to strangle Albus.

"I've no idea what Lily would think, and I don't particularly care," Snape lied smoothly, though he couldn't completely conceal the pain in his voice at his next words. "She's dead."

Amazing, how the old man's eyes could hold such anger and sympathy at the same time.

After another long moment of silence, Albus spoke again, his voice soft. "Please, Severus?"

Clenching his teeth, Snape let out a long breath through his nose. "Fine," he finally replied. "You win. I will teach the boy. But Albus, I won't coddle him as you would. I will train him as I see fit."

"Of course, Severus," Albus chuckled, eyes once more twinkling madly. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

 

* * *

 

"Where do you suppose Snape is at?" Ron questioned Harry, staring fixedly at the front of the Potions classroom, as though Snape would suddenly pop out from behind a cauldron. "He's _never_ late to class."

Harry shrugged, indifferent. Potions was the last place he wanted to be anyway. A few minutes less of class wasn't anything he was going to complain about, strange as it was.

The rest of the class seemed to share Harry's viewpoint. Most students were wandering about the room or sitting on tables, talking with each other amiably.

Suddenly, the classroom door flew open. All chatter stopped instantly as Snape entered, his face murderous as he took in the state of his classroom.

"Sit. Down." Snape growled through his teeth. Hurriedly and silently, students scattered about the room as they scrambled to take their seats.

Snape waited until the class was seated, sneered once more, and then strode to the front of the room, robes billowing behind him. "Today," he drawled after a moment, "We will be brewing Shrinking Solution. This draught is highly volatile, so I suggest you all use caution." Snape gave Neville a pointed look at this. "Instructions are on the board. Begin."

Harry let out a breath. He had actually read this chapter. After receiving such terrible marks in Potions the last two years, Harry had decided to try harder this year. Or, at least actually read the material. That'd be a start, anyhow. Turning to Ron, he gave him a small grin. "I'll get the flobberworm puss measured and boiling if you want to start chopping daisy roots."

Ron smiled widely, obviously relieved at getting the less messy of the two jobs. "Sounds good," he replied, pulling his knife toward him.

After lighting the cauldron, Harry began measuring puss from a vial, careful not to spill any on his hands. Lowering his head to check the reading, Harry jumped when a voice spoke from directly behind him.

"Too much flobberworm puss, Potter. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

Harry's stomach clenched. With a sneer, Snape walked away, and within moments, he had begun to berate Neville on his chopping of the daisy roots.

"Blimey," Ron whispered, eyes wide in astonishment. "Twenty points? You haven't even added the puss yet! What a git!"

Harry bit his lip. "Wonder if he's still angry about last class," he muttered, remembering how furious Snape had been when Harry had arrived late from talking with Professor Lupin. It certainly wasn't unlike Snape to hold a grudge.

Ron grunted in agreement before going back to chopping roots. "Could be," he concurred.

Harry sighed. After double checking the puss measurement, he added it to the cauldron to let it boil. Examining the board for further instruction, Harry began to skin his frog spleen.

A few minutes passed before Snape made his second rounds to scrutinize the Gryffindors' potions. Pausing at Harry and Ron's cauldron, Snape gazed at the solution for a moment before tutting softly.

"Too orange, Potter. After adding daisy roots, the solution should be yellow in color. Twenty more points from Gryffindor."

"But sir!" Harry exclaimed before he could stop himself. Snape's eyes snapped to his face and Harry felt himself flushing. "We… we haven't added our roots to the potion yet, sir," he stammered.

Snape's eyebrows raised slightly. "Indeed. Ten more points for arguing with a professor."

Harry snapped his mouth shut to stop himself from saying anything else. With shrouded eyes, Snape studied him a moment longer before striding away.

On Harry's other side, Ron had stopped chopping the daisy roots and was staring at Snape's retreating back, mouth agape. "Fifty… fifty points," he moaned weakly. "Snape's taken fifty points from you, for doing _nothing!"_

Well, Harry mused. Snape was definitely sore about something. As a rule, he was unfair in his taking of points from Gryffindor, especially when it came to Harry. But he was never this blatant about doing it. Usually, he had more tact that that.

"Just… let's just finish this quickly," Harry murmured, gesturing toward their potion. "Before he can take any more points."

Ron nodded vigorously, picking up his cutting board and pushing in his chopped roots in the cauldron without hesitation. "Sounds good, mate."

The rest of class passed without incident, and by the end, Harry and Ron had managed to produce a Shrinking Solution which, in Harry's opinion, looked exactly like the book described it. A light yellow color, with a thick, sticky consistency. Harry exhaled heavily before beginning to bottle and label the potion. Snape would probably still find fault with it, but at least Harry knew he'd done well.

"Can you bring up our samples?" Harry asked Ron in a whisper. "If I do it, Snape will probably just take more points."

"Sure," Ron agreed, grabbing the vials and walking toward the front of the room. Setting them down on Snape's desk, the professor looked up from his work, sneered slightly, but said nothing.

Harry rubbed his forehead tiredly as he began to tidy up their station. Yes, Snape was most definitely in a foul mood.

After everyone had turned in their samples and cleared their stations, Snape paused from his work and glanced around the classroom. "Dismissed," he spat out. Hastily, the class began to pack up and leave. Nobody loitered around after a Potions class.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Harry turned to Hermione, who had just appeared from her own station. Before he could say anything, Snape's voice called out from the front of the room.

"Potter!"

Harry's mouth went dry. Turning around slowly, he was met by Snape's steady gaze. "Yes, Professor?" he asked, keeping his tone as civil as possible.

"You will remain after class," Snape replied, setting down his quill. "I have something to discuss with you."

Dread settled heavily in Harry's stomach. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he turned back to Ron and Hermione. "You two go on," he muttered softly. "Let McGonagall know where I am, alright?"

"Of course," Hermione murmured, her eyes wide as she looked over Harry's shoulder at Snape. "We'll... see you soon."

Harry gave a curt nod in response. Quickly, Ron and Hermione exited the classroom, leaving only Harry and Snape behind.

Standing rather awkwardly at his desk, Harry waited anxiously as Snape finished scribbling something down on a sheet of parchment. What could Snape possibly want to discuss with him? It wasn't like they'd had enough classes yet this year to have a discussion about his performance or behavior, or anything like that.

Looking up from his papers, Snape barked. "Potter, don't dawdle like an idiot. Come here!"

Harry made his way to the front of the classroom and stood uncomfortably in front of the professor's desk. A few minutes passed, and Harry was certain Snape was making him wait on purpose to prolong the tension. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Snape pushed his parchment aside.

Looking up at Harry, the professor's black eyes were cool and emotionless. "You will accompany me to the Headmaster's office," Snape said, regarding Harry with unguarded disdain. "There is a matter he must discuss with us."

"Yes sir," Harry replied automatically. However, internally, his mind reeled with confusion. Dumbledore? What on earth could he want with him and Snape?

Snape stood up from his seat abruptly. Walking over to the grated fireplace in the far corner of the room, Snape turned toward Harry. "I assume you've travelled by Floo before, Potter?" 

"Yes sir."

Snape nodded. "Very well." The professor muttered a spell to retract the iron bars crisscrossing the fireplace. Reaching into a jar on top of the mantle, he withdrew a handful of Floo powder. "Come, Mr. Potter," he commanded.

Hurriedly, Harry walked toward Snape, heart pounding wildly.

"Hold out your hand."

Harry complied, and quickly, some powder was deposited there, Snape's hand never making contact with his own.

Without another word, Snape turned sharply toward the fireplace. Throwing in his own handful of powder, he called out, "Professor Dumbledore's office," stepped into the flames, and vanished.

Harry waited a moment before shifting his book bag more securely around his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he tossed the powder into the fireplace. "Professor Dumbledore's office!" he called out, trying to sound more confident than he felt as he stepped quickly into the grate. Instantly, the familiar tug of the Floo surrounded him, and before he could draw another breath, Harry felt himself whirling, twisting, as fire engulfed him.

As suddenly as it began, it was over. Harry was spat out of another fireplace, head reeling and lungs burning. He managed to catch himself before he could fall to his knees, and sputtering slightly, he adjusted his glasses, which had nearly fallen off during the trip.

Brushing soot off his robes, Harry looked up. Dumbledore and Snape were already seated at the Headmaster's desk, a pot of tea between the two of them. Snape didn't look as if he'd Flooed at all. Seeming completely unaffected, robes immaculate, he took a measured sip of tea. Professor Dumbledore looked up from his own cup and smiled brightly.

"Ah, Harry! Do sit down!" the headmaster exclaimed happily. "Would you care for some tea, my boy?"

Harry sat down in the offered chair next to Snape. "Um, yeah, sure," he answered hesitantly, still unsure as to what he was doing there. However, before he could make a move to pour himself a cup of tea, a full one appeared in front of him. Jumping slightly, Harry quickly grabbed the cup, glad to give his hands something to hold. "Thanks," he murmured, taking a long sip. Cream, but no sugar, just the way he liked it.

Dumbledore smiled softly. "Of course," he replied.

After a moment of silence, Harry spoke first. "Um… Professor Snape said there was something you wanted to discuss? Sir?" he questioned, gripping his teacup firmly.

Snape rolled his eyes and snorted softly, but Dumbledore merely nodded, eyes bright. "Yes, Harry, there is," he answered, setting down his own cup. Folding his hands underneath his chin, Dumbledore looked Harry directly in the eye. "Professor Lupin came to talk with me the other day, Harry," the Headmaster said gently. "He told me of your desire to learn to defend yourself from dementors."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "Yeah," he replied, feeling rather embarrassed that they were having this conversation in front of Snape. "He... he said he'd talk with you about it."

"Indeed he did. And I quite agree with his sentiments. I believe learning to defend yourself against dementors- that is, to say, to learn to cast the Patronus charm- is a marvelous idea."

Harry nodded swiftly, relief flooding through him. A Patronus. That must have been what Ron and Hermione had described- that great, silver, foggy thing that Professor Lupin had cast at the dementor.

With a small smile, Dumbledore continued. "However, I regret to inform you that Professor Lupin is unable to take on extra lessons to teach you to cast a Patronus, Harry."

Dumbledore must have seen Harry's face fall, because quickly, he began to voice reassurances.

"Not to worry, my boy! That's not to say that you won't be taught defense against the dementors. I've managed to find another professor who is quite willing to take on the job."

Snape snorted at that. Harry had forgot for a moment that he was still in the room. "I'd hardly call myself willing, Albus," Snape scoffed, glancing sharply at Harry.

Eyes widening rapidly, Harry felt his gut clench horribly as he put two and two together. "No!" He spat out, unable to help himself.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at the exclamation. "Harry," he soothed gently. "Professor Snape is an excellent teacher, and quite proficient at producing a Patronus. He will be able to teach you to produce one as well, I'm quite certain."

"But, he… he hates me! If Professor Lupin can't teach me, then why can't you, sir?" Harry asked rather desperately.

The Headmaster sighed. "Ah… I'm afraid my own Patronus is rather weak, Harry. Professor Snape is more capable than myself, and I'm certain he'll be able to better teach you."

Harry very much doubted that, but managed to refrain from saying as much. He clenched his teeth, sneaking a glance at Snape. Certainly he'd protest. Snape would never agree to something like this.

Snape met his eyes briefly before looking away. "Believe me, Potter," he muttered rather bitterly. "I'm no happier with this arrangement than you are." Snape pursed his lips, and his next words sounded rather pained. "However, the Headmaster is right. I am able to teach you, and the less fuss is made about these lessons, the quicker they'll be over with."

Harry frowned. That was surprisingly diplomatic, coming from Snape. He looked back at Dumbledore and gave a short nod. "Alright," he agreed reluctantly. "But he has to be civil to me," Harry added, with a pointed look at Snape.

"You're in no position to be making demands, Potter."

"Boys," the Headmaster interrupted, holding up a hand, halting the argument before it could progress. Smiling softly at Harry, Dumbledore continued. "I'm certain Professor Snape will make a fine teacher."

Harry wasn't too certain of that at all.

Dumbledore nodded in firm resolution, picking up his cup of tea to take a sip. "It's good you asked for these lessons, Harry," he added. "It could prove to be of great use to you in the future. It's important that you learn to defend yourself."

Harry frowned slightly, sensing hidden meaning behind those words. "Because of Black, you mean, Professor?" he questioned, trying to keep his tone casual, remembering what Mr. Weasley had told him about the man before he'd gotten on the Hogwarts Express. "That is why the dementors are here at Hogwarts, right?"

Dumbledore glanced at Harry sharply, his gaze piercing. When he replied, however, his voice was quite calm. "Yes, Harry. It's vital that all our students learn proper defense."

After another moment, Dumbledore set down his teacup and smiled brightly. "Well my boys, I'm sorry to say that I have business to attend to, as I'm certain the two of you do as well."

Snape stood up rather stiffly and nodded curtly at Dumbledore. "Come, Potter," he spat out, making his way toward the office door.

Dumbledore addressed Harry once more as he stood up. "Should you care to talk sometime, Harry, about anything at all, do feel free to come for a visit. My door is always open to you."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Professor," he replied, following Snape from the Headmaster's office. The man practically flew down the staircase, and Harry found himself nearly sprinting to keep up. When they'd reached the bottom and the gargoyle had shut the stone wall closed behind them, Snape swiftly rounded on Harry.

"I'll have you know, Potter, that I'm not obligated to give you these lessons in the slightest. Nevertheless, I am agreeing to do so. I expect you to be grateful and courteous in return. I will not have you wasting my time. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied, voice tight with restrained emotion.

Snape nodded briskly. "Our lessons will be held every weeknight, to begin at 7 o clock tomorrow in my office. Do not be late."

"But- Professor! Every night?" Harry exclaimed in surprise. "I have classes, and homework, and Quidditch practice…"

Snape smiled rather nastily. "Well then, Mr. Potter, I suppose you'll simply have to learn to accommodate."

With that, Snape turned and strode away, robes trailing ominously behind him.

Abruptly, Harry found himself wishing he hadn't asked for lessons at all.


	3. Chapter 3

"Snape's doing _what?"_

Harry flinched slightly at the volume of Ron's voice. "He's giving me extra lessons to teach me to cast a Patronus," he muttered quietly, glancing around the common room to see if anyone had noticed Ron's outburst.

"Well, what the bloody hell is a Patronus anyway? And why _Snape,_ of all people?"

"Quiet down, Ronald!" hissed Hermione, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "Do you think Harry wants the entire Gryffindor house knowing his business?"

Ron scowled at Hermione, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm just surprised is all," he sulked, though he did lower his voice.

Harry exhaled heavily, feeling his head begin to throb. Today had been rotten enough already, and getting into a drawn-out discussion about these lessons with his friends was the last thing he wanted to do. "A Patronus is something that fights off dementors," Harry answered shortly. "It's the spell Lupin used on the Express."

"It's a spirit guardian," Hermione chimed in, eyes wide. At Ron's confused look, she continued. "Positive energy that takes the form of the caster's spiritual animal when fully corporeal! Oh, Harry, that's some really advanced magic!"

Harry stared. "How do you know all that about Patronuses?" he asked.

Hermione flushed. "I read about it," she admitted, sounding slightly defensive. "I was curious after Lupin defeated the dementor on the train- though he just cast an incorporeal form. It's much more difficult to cast a corporeal one."

Harry nodded, slouching back into the couch he was sitting on.

Ron merely sat there, mouth gaping. "That still doesn't explain why Snape's the one teaching you, Harry!" he finally added, blue eyes wide. "Why would you want that greasy git to give you lessons? He took fifty points from you today, remember?"

Harry clenched his fists. "It's not like I asked for Snape to teach me, Ron!" He bit out, highly annoyed with the other boy. "I didn't have much of a choice in the matter! I wanted Lupin to teach me, but Dumbledore said he couldn't!"

"Dumbledore? What in Merlin's name does he have to do with this?"

"He's the one who gave permission for me to get these lessons!" Harry replied, voice steadily rising to a yell. "And he's the one who said that Snape had to teach me!"

"Harry, shh!" Hermione whispered hastily, with a rather pointed look over his shoulder.

Twisting his head to look behind him, Harry was met with stunned stares from a nearby table of first years who were looking at him as if he were nutters. Feeling himself turning red, Harry hurriedly spun back around.

After a moment, Ron cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "I wasn't blaming you or anything, mate," he murmured, looking rather embarrassed with himself. "It's just… I mean…"

"I know," Harry cut in with a sigh. "Sorry I got angry. It's just been a long day, you know?"

Ron nodded sympathetically.

Closing his eyes, Harry continued, feeling as if he rather owed his friends an explanation. "I asked Lupin to teach me first, but Dumbledore said he couldn't. I don't know why exactly, but Dumbledore said Snape had to give me lessons instead."

"But Harry," Hermione replied softly after a moment. "Why do you need to learn to cast a Patronus anyhow?"

"I- well…" Harry hesitated, swallowing against the lump in his throat. "After I collapsed on the Express… I just thought maybe I should learn to defend myself. You know- in case it happens again, or something."

Ron nodded in understanding, but Hermione just studied Harry intently. Harry avoided her gaze, sensing she knew that he hadn't told the full truth. However, after a moment, Hermione merely nodded. "That's a good idea, Harry," she agreed. "Especially since they affect you so."

Harry didn't respond, choosing instead to turn and stare at the fireplace.

"Well," Hermione said with finality. "These lessons will be good for you. And if Dumbledore says so, I suppose having Snape as a teacher is for the best."

Ron stared incredulously at Hermione, but after she glared at him, he managed to smooth his features. "Yeah," he murmured, staring at his feet. "Just be careful, Harry. Who knows what that git might try and do."

Harry felt his stomach clench. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "Yeah, I will."

 

* * *

 

The next day seemed to pass in a blur. All Harry could think about was his upcoming lesson with Snape, and how much he was dreading it. He found it rather difficult to focus on anything else at all- especially his lessons. Even though Hermione had elbowed him at least three times in Charms to try to get him to focus, he'd still managed to miss Flitwick's question directed at him, losing five points for Gryffindor in the process.

By the time dinner came around, Harry felt rather ill and couldn't bring himself to eat any of his food. With his chin cupped in his hand, he hardheartedly poked his fork at his mashed potatoes, moving them about his plate.

Noticing what Harry was doing, Hermione looked up from her own meal. "Harry," she chided gently. "You have to eat something."

Sometimes, Harry thought to himself, Hermione was just too observant for her own good. Making a face, Harry speared a green bean and shoved it in his mouth. "Better?" he questioned, his voice coming out sharper than he'd intended.

Hermione merely pursed her lips and nodded.

Ron, who was sitting across from Harry, was having no trouble finishing his dinner. Already on his second helping, mouth stuffed full of gravy and potatoes, he glanced up at Harry. "C'mn, mate. It won be dat bad."

Harry gave Ron an exasperated look. Swallowing his mouthful, Ron grinned sheepishly. "Well, maybe it will be."

Harry sighed, putting down his fork. "Thanks for the encouragement," he muttered.

Hermione frowned, her brown eyes dark with concern. "Harry," she said softly. "I know Snape's not the nicest of people, but he did agree to give you these lessons. That has to count for something, right?"

"Not really."

Hermione huffed. "Well, you did ask for these lessons, and they will be helpful. I certainly wish I was learning this type of magic. You'll just have to make the most of the situation."

"Easy for you to say, 'Mione," Ron said as he shoved another spoonful into his mouth. "S'not like you're going to have to deal with Snape every night. I mean, just look him," he added, nodding toward the front of the Great Hall.

Collectively, the trio turned to observe the head table. Snape, seated between Dumbledore and McGonagall, was scowling furiously at his plate. As Dumbledore attempted to engage Snape in conversation, the other man snapped his head up, face murderous, as he bared his teeth and bit out something inaudible before returning to glaring downward at his untouched food.

Harry quickly turned back to his own plate, feeling about as miserable as he'd ever felt.

A heavy silence fell over the trio. "Well," Ron said after a moment, a slow grin spreading across his face. "If Snape kills you, can I have your Nimbus 2000?"

Ron's comment- an obvious attempt to ease the tension of the situation- seemed to do the trick. Hermione snorted mildly before giving Ron a good-natured shove in the side. For the first time that day, Harry felt his apprehension lessen. He smiled at his friends, feeling glad that some things would never change.

 

* * *

 

Harry glanced at his wristwatch for the third time in less than a minute. Five to seven. Harry exhaled heavily as he shoved his sleeve back over his watch. He had left the Gryffindor common room over fifteen minutes ago, his fear of arriving late overpowering his common sense, since he knew it was less than a ten minute walk to the dungeons. He now stood awkwardly in front of the door to Snape's office- a great, black, wooden door that looked about as menacing as Snape. Harry had become rather familiar with this particular office over the past two years, as it was where Snape held many of his detentions when they involved lines or written work.

Having already loitered for ten minutes, Harry figured Snape probably wouldn't mind if he was a minute or two early. Reaching his hand up to knock, Harry hesitated briefly before rapping on the door.

After a long moment, Snape's voice called out from within the room.

"Enter."

Squaring his shoulders, Harry pushed open the door. Snape was sitting in a wooden chair in the far corner of his office, reading from some large tome. Upon Harry's entrance, he looked up from his book, favoring Harry with a sneer. "Late as usual, Potter," Snape droned before snapping the text shut.

Harry bit his lip, managing to keep from responding.

Snape stood fluidly, and after placing the book on his desk, turned to face Harry. "Well, boy, don't just stand there," Snape spat out after a moment. "Take off your robes and shut the door."

Harry scowled, but did as Snape requested without argument.

The professor regarded Harry with hooded eyes. "Well, Potter," he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest. "Here we are. Before we begin, I'd like to set a few… ground rules."

Harry nodded, keeping his face purposefully blank.

"I expect you to arrive punctually for our lessons," Snape continued. "And know that I will not accept any of your usual backtalk or laziness. Casting a Patronus is not easy magic, and learning to do so will take discipline and hard work- a concept quite foreign to you, I'm sure," Snape added nastily. "But a necessary concept, nonetheless. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied, clenching his fists.

Snape nodded curtly. "Let us begin. It is possible to cast a Patronus without the presence of a dementor, but using one will produce much better results, as you will become accustomed to casting whilst your mind is under attack." Snape moved to his desk and picked up a small, black box that was sitting there. "Now," he continued. "Seeing as though we can't use an actual dementor, since I'm sure you'd prefer to keep your soul intact, we will be using a Boggart instead. I'm told that your Boggart takes the form of a dementor. Is this correct?"

Harry eyed the box warily. "Well," he hesitated. "I think it would. I mean, I've never faced one directly before."

Snape blinked heavily at Harry, as if he were the world's biggest idiot. "Merlin forbid," he murmured, almost to himself. "Well then, Potter. We will just have to hope that you are correct in your assumption."

Harry felt himself flushing. "Yes sir."

"Take out your wand, Mr. Potter," Snape ordered after a moment, withdrawing his own wand of dark, polished wood.

Harry hurried to comply, yanking his wand from his trouser pocket.

"The incantation for casting a Patronus is as follows. _Expecto Patronum,"_ the professor enunciated slowly. "Repeat."

"Expecto Patronum," Harry complied, gripping his wand firmly while staring at the box in Snape's hands. "Expecto Patronum."

Snape bent down, setting the box in the center of the office floor, a couple yards away from Harry. "Now, as you cast the spell, you must think of a happy memory," Snape continued speaking as he stood. "Are you ready?"

Harry's thoughts whirled as he tried to place a happy memory. "Um, I guess," he responded, his legs feeling rather weak.

Snape nodded and pointed his wand at the box. "Alohomora."

Harry flinched as the box rattled threateningly. Without warning, the lid burst open. A dark fog came spilling from the box, and within seconds, a dementor had appeared from its depths. The creature glided toward Harry, its dark cloak dragging on the office floor. A choking, rattling sound emerged from the hole in its face as the dementor breathed, sucking in air. Harry backed away, panicking, as he felt a sudden rush of cold hopelessness wash over him. The same woman's screams he'd heard last time echoed in his head. He was dimly aware of Snape's voice cutting through the thick haze covering his mind.

"Cast the spell, Potter!"

Harry gripped his wand tighter. "Expecto… Expecto…" he gasped as his back hit the office wall, unable to back up any further. The dementor was nearly on him- he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Harry felt his legs growing shaky under him, and as he collapsed to the stone floor, a welcoming darkness was the last thing he knew.

Harry awoke to rough hands shaking his shoulders. "Potter, wake up!" a voice thundered from above him.

Head spinning, Harry groaned as he struggled to open his eyes. Snape was kneeling next to him, gripping his shoulders tightly. Upon seeing Harry was awake, Snape scowled before dragging him up from the ground under his armpits. Still feeling a bit woozy, Harry leaned heavily against the office wall, glancing around the room. The Boggart was nowhere in sight, and the box sat closed and unassuming on the office floor. Harry flushed as he realized what'd happened- that he'd collapsed yet again.

Snape brushed off his robes as he frowned at Harry. "Was that supposed to be an attempt, Potter?" he questioned harshly.

Harry panted, feeling as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. "I… I dunno," he replied, somewhat dazed. "I… I wasn't ready. I couldn't think of anything happy."

Snape snorted. "Well, this time, make sure you have your memory in place _before_ the Boggart comes at you."

Harry nodded, picking up his wand from where it'd fallen on the floor. Straightening up, he quickly sorted through his memories. A happy memory… after a moment, Harry placed a rather mundane yet happy memory- spending time with Ron and Hermione in the common room, the three of them laughing at something funny. Harry tried his best to focus on this memory before turning to Snape, who regarded him solemnly.

"Do you have your memory in place, Mr. Potter?" the professor questioned.

"Yes sir," Harry replied, pointing his wand at the box, replaying the memory over and over through his mind.

The professor nodded once before waving his wand at the box to unlock it. Like before, the Boggart sprang from the box, instantly taking the form of a dementor. Almost immediately, deep despair washed over Harry. Attempting to stand his ground, Harry focused on the memory of his friends, trying desperately to think happy thoughts. "Expecto Patronum," he managed to gasp out in a single breath. To Harry's dismay, nothing happened. The dementor continued its advance, boney hands reaching toward Harry's face...

Harry felt his head spinning as those terrible screams began again. Reeling, he scrambled away from the dementor, dropping all pretense of trying to fight it. Desperately, he backed against the office wall, his only thoughts those of escape. Before he could collapse again, however, he heard Snape's voice call out from the other side of the room.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Harry tore his gaze away from the dementor as a brilliant white light flew out from Snape's wand. The blinding light darted about the room before taking on the form of an animal. A spirit guardian, Harry foggily recalled, remembering Hermione's words. The silvery creature- a doe, Harry realized- ran up to the dementor without hesitation. As the two creatures collided, darkness and light, the dementor faltered before shrinking away with a terrible squeal, forced back by the Patronus. Retreating, the Boggart began to lose its form, turning back into thick, black fog as it dove into its box.

Harry watched dazedly as Snape jerked his wand, breaking the connection with his Patronus. The doe dissipated in a puff of silvery smoke as Snape turned his attention to the Boggart's box, hurriedly casting a locking charm.

Prolonged silence filled the room. Breathing heavily, Snape turned to face Harry, nostrils flaring. "Pathetic, Potter!" he snarled, breaking the silence as he bared his teeth. "Honestly, are you even trying?"

Straightening up, Harry nodded slowly, absolutely exhausted. "Yes," he replied. "I am."

Snape scoffed. "Of course you are, Potter."

"I really am!" Harry insisted. "I even had a happy memory that time!"

Snape's face was murderous. "Don't take that tone with me, boy," he bit out, narrowing his eyes. "Now, begin again, with some actual effort this time."

Harry's stomach sank. Trembling slightly, he faced the box once more, dread coursing through every nerve in his body.

 

* * *

 

Harry staggered through the hallway, feeling more exhausted than he could ever recall feeling in his life. He'd just finished his lesson with Snape, and despite facing the Boggart at least a half dozen times more, Harry still hadn't managed to produce even a wisp of smoke. Snape had ridiculed him relentlessly, accusing him of not trying- of being lazy and complacent, when in reality, Harry didn't know what else he could have done. He'd been dismissed by a short-tempered Snape, who had snappily reminded him to arrive _on time_ to his next lesson.

Rounding a corner, Harry continued his trek back to the Gryffindor common room, wanting nothing more than to sink into his bed and sleep forever. He was about to climb a staircase when a voice called out from behind him. "Harry?"

Heart pounding, Harry whipped his head around. Professor Lupin stood in the middle of the hall, a stack of books in his hands. "Harry, what on earth are you doing out this late?" the professor questioned gently. "It's nearly past curfew."

Harry cleared his throat. "I… uh, just got out of my lesson with Professor Snape," he answered, shuffling his feet nervously.

Lupin frowned slightly, shifting the books in his arms. "A lesson?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he replied awkwardly. "He's teaching me to cast a Patronus."

For a moment, Harry swore he saw a flash of anger pass over Lupin's face- something primal and raw- but the next moment, the professor stood there, looking completely composed and unaffected.

"Is he then," Lupin muttered rather darkly. After a moment of silence, Lupin looked up at Harry. "How would you like to join me in my office for some tea, Harry?" the professor questioned, smiling gently. "We've a bit of time left before curfew, and there's something I'd quite like to discuss with you."

"Er… ok then," Harry replied.

With a smile, Lupin turned back around and began to walk down the corridor. Harry trailed behind, and after a minute, Lupin stopped in front of an oak door. Opening it, the professor gestured for Harry to enter first.

"Thanks," Harry murmured, quickly stepping into the office. After coming from Snape's office- which was rather barren and bleak- Lupin's was a welcome relief. The room was well lit and very inviting, with two comfy looking red armchairs jammed into a corner with a wooden table between them.

Shutting the door behind him, Lupin smiled at Harry before setting the large stack of books on his desk. "I was at the library," he explained to Harry. "Gathering some material on Hinkypunks for tomorrow's Defense class. Have a seat," he continued, gesturing at the red armchairs, "And I'll conjure us some tea."

"Alright," Harry agreed readily, sinking down into the offered chair. Complete exhaustion engulfed Harry, and closing his eyes, he jumped slightly a minute later when Lupin set a tray of tea down on the table between them.

Pouring a cup, the professor handed it over to Harry before taking his own seat. Murmuring his thanks, Harry took a large sip. Lupin smiled at Harry before reaching into his robe pocket and pulling out a bar of chocolate.

"Eat it," the professor ordered, handing the bar to Harry. "You look as if you need it."

Harry felt as though he needed it too. Fighting the Boggart so many times had taken an awful lot out of him. Taking a large bite of the chocolate, Harry felt warmth spread through his body. Sighing contentedly, Harry continued to nibble at the bar.

"So," Lupin said after a moment. "How did your lesson with Professor Snape go?"

Swallowing the piece of chocolate in his mouth, Harry shrugged. "Ok, I suppose," he mumbled. "I didn't manage to cast a Patronus though."

Lupin frowned before replying. "Frankly, I'd be stunned if you had, Harry. Casting a Patronus is a tricky, difficult business. Most full grown wizards can't even manage to do so."

Harry felt his heart sink at this revelation. "Do you think I'll ever manage to cast one, then?" he questioned, gripping his mug of tea tightly.

Lupin studied Harry intently. "I do," he responded, voice firm with conviction. "You have the skill and the dedication, Harry. I have faith that with time, and a great deal of practice and patience, you will learn to cast one."

Harry blinked rapidly before nodding and taking another large bite of chocolate.

After another minute of silence, Lupin met Harry's gaze. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm not the one teaching you to cast a Patronus, Harry."

Harry felt his face flush, as that had been exactly what he'd been pondering. "That's ok, Professor," he responded quickly. "I know you're probably too busy."

Lupin smiled rather wryly. "I am busy, Harry, but not to the point where I'm unable to take on a few extra lessons. I feel as if you rather deserve an explanation as to why Professor Snape is teaching you, and not I."

"It's alright, Professor," Harry insisted again. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"But I do, Harry," Lupin responded gently. "I owe it to you. You see, I am unable to teach you because I myself cannot cast a Patronus."

Harry stared in confusion. "You can't?" he asked, feeling rather stunned. "But, on the Express..."

Lupin sighed. "That instance was the one exception, Harry. It was the first time I've managed to cast a Patronus in over ten years, and not for lack of trying. Casting it required an incredible effort on my part. I must further explain that this inability is not because I lack the skill or understanding. I cannot procure a happy enough memory to cast a Patronus. I could at one point in my life, but this is no longer the case."

Realization of what Lupin was saying dawned on Harry. "Oh," he said shortly.

Lupin smiled fondly at Harry. "It takes a strong individual to cast a Patronus," the professor stated, taking a sip of tea. "I am simply not strong enough."

Harry frowned at that. "But Professor," he replied after a moment of contemplation. "How come Snape can cast a Patronus, then? How can _he_ have more happy memories than you?"

Lupin laughed gently at that. "At one point in my life, I would have asked myself the same question," the professor replied, looking rather thoughtful. "I have experienced hardships in my past, Harry, as has Professor Snape. While I am controlled by my past, Professor Snape exerts control over his. He emerged determined and hardened by his trials, and as a result, he is the stronger man."

Harry looked down at his cup of tea, hearing Lupin's words, but not understanding how they could possibly be true. How Snape could be stronger- how he could be _happier-_ than Professor Lupin.


	4. Chapter 4

"There," Harry murmured, signing his name at the top of his Herbology essay. Yawning widely, he set the roll of parchment aside to dry. Dragging his Defense book from his bag, Harry plopped it on the table with a heavy thump.

"Hermione," he asked, turning to the girl next to him. "Would you read over my Herbology essay for me?"

Hermione, engrossed in her own homework, looked up after a moment and frowned heavily. "You should have finished it yesterday," she scolded. However, she set down her book and picked up Harry's essay without further complaint. Dipping her quill in her inkwell, she began to scribble furiously on the parchment.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. "I didn't have time yesterday," he groaned, voice heavy with exhaustion. "I had Quidditch practice, and then Transfiguration to practice, and then the Charms readings…"

"Yeah, Hermione," Ron chimed in from the couch, where he sat reading a Quidditch magazine. "We don't all have massive amounts of free time, you know."

As Hermione and Ron began to bicker, Harry forced his tired eyes open. Reluctantly, he opened his Defense book to begin reading that night's chapter.

It seemed to Harry that the professors were being especially vicious with their assignments this year. Nearly every night he had essays to write, readings to complete, and spells to practice. Hermione claimed that this increase in coursework was "only to be expected" as it was "very nearly time for our O.W.L.S, you know." Harry didn't know how much that had to do with anything, since O.W.L.S were ages away. Either way, his workload had increased to nearly unmanageable levels. With all his homework on top of Snape's lessons every weeknight, Harry could feel himself growing more fatigued as the days went by.

Even now, trying to read his Defense text, Harry was very nearly dozing off. Head drooping forward, he forced open his burning eyes. Shaking his head to clear it, he focused intently on the book in front of him. Even so, he kept reading the same line on vampires over and over, not making any real sense of it.

"Harry. Harry?"

Harry jerked his head up as Hermione called his name. "Yeah?" he yawned widely.

"Don't you have your lesson with Professor Snape tonight?"

Harry stared blankly at Hermione for a long moment, his mind slow and hazy from hours of busywork. However, comprehension quickly set in. Looking at his watch, Harry swore rapidly and lurched forward from his seat, nearly tripping over his chair as he tried to pull on his shoes.

"Why didn't you tell me it was nearly time?" he snapped at Hermione, grabbing his robes and shoving his arms into the sleeves.

"Me?" gasped Hermione, narrowing her eyes. "What, am I in charge of your schedule now? You're lucky I remembered at all!"

Harry knew she was right; it wasn't her fault he was running late. But days of exhaustion and stress made his temper run short. "You should have warned me," he growled, grabbing his bag from off the floor.

Hermione's expression was livid. "Don't you _dare_ blame me for this, Harry James Potter!" she practically shouted.

Harry ignored her, instead turning to storm out of the common room.

"Correct your essay yourself!" he heard Hermione call after him. Exiting from the portrait hole, Harry's last sight was Hermione storming up the stairs to the girls dormitory, and Ron still sitting on the couch with his magazine, looking completely dumbfounded.

 

* * *

 

"Again."

Harry ground his teeth together and wiped sweat from his forehead. He had sprinted all the way from the Gryffindor common room to Snape's office, just barely managing to arrive on time. Snape hadn't commented on Harry's state of dishevel, though the look he'd given him had been more than enough to express his displeasure.

This was Harry's fifth lesson with Snape. He had faced the Boggart-turned-dementor countless times over the past week, and had yet to manage to produce even a wisp of a Patronus. He tried to focus on his happy memory- tried to reassure himself that the Boggart wasn't _really_ a dementor- but it never seemed to work. Every time the creature came near him, Harry froze in terror.

He had just finished attempting to fight the Boggart for the first time that night, and had once again failed miserably. Snape stood in the far corner of the room, arms crossed as he regarded Harry with narrowed eyes.

"Again, Mr. Potter," Snape repeated.

And so, Harry tried again. And for the next hour, he continued his attempts to defeat the Boggart. However, as the lesson progressed, Harry grew more and more disheartened. It had already been five days since he'd started these lessons, and he was no closer to producing a Patronus now than he'd been that very first day. What if he simply couldn't produce a Patronus? What if he was one of those wizards Lupin had talked about- one that didn't have enough magic or happiness to conjure one?

As the lesson's end drew closer, Snape grew nastier, as he did at every lesson. "Pathetic, Potter," he growled as Harry backed away from the Boggart. "Absolutely pathetic."

As Snape defeated the Boggart himself, Harry slumped against the office wall, panting heavily.

After capturing the creature in its box, Snape turned to Harry with a hateful sneer. "Well," he snapped. "Up, Potter. Once more, though clearly it's a wasted effort, since you are _obviously_ not even trying."

Snape's comment rung through Harry's head, this one surprisingly hurtful. Not trying? Harry didn't know how he could possibly try any harder! Straightening up, Harry clenched his fists. "I am trying, Professor," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Really. I don't know what else I can do."

Snape raised an eyebrow at this. "I'm sure you can think of something," he replied curtly.

Harry closed his eyes, frustrated with both himself and Snape. "I just… I don't know what I'm doing wrong," he murmured angrily, his exhaustion making him ramble somewhat. "I mean, I'm saying the incantation, I have a happy memory, and I'm focusing on it as hard as I can. What else is there?"

Snape studied Harry intently. "What memory are you attempting to utilize, Mr. Potter?"

Though Snape's tone was still brisk and rather severe, his words lacked the usual malice Harry had come to associate with the professor.

"Um…" Harry thought quickly. "Me and my friends, spending time together."

Snape stood in silence for a long moment before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. "Have you considered that perhaps your inability is based on the fact that your happy memory isn't happy enough?" the man questioned, sounding rather pained.

"Um…"

"Obviously not."

Harry frowned at that. "It seemed like a pleasant enough memory to me."

"A _pleasant_ memory isn't good enough, Potter!" Snape spat. "To produce a Patronus, you need an _exceptionally_ happy memory- the happiest you can possibly recollect! How else do you expect to counter against the absolute despair dementors inflict?"

Harry stared at Snape, mouth gaping open. "Well, how was I supposed to know?" he replied after a moment. "You just said to think of something happy! You should have… I dunno, _specified_ that or something!"

Snape looked murderous. "I did not think it necessary."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from replying.

After a long moment of silence, Snape exhaled heavily. "Well, Mr. Potter," he finally said, sounding more weary than angry now. "Find a new memory, and let's try once more."

Harry nodded briskly, closing his eyes and sorting through his memories… the happiest he'd ever felt …after a moment, Harry focused in on a specific memory. When he'd received his Hogwarts letter from Hagrid.

Focusing intensely on this memory, Harry opened his eyes and nodded at Snape, who was again standing in the far corner of the room. The professor jerked his head in response before pointing his wand at the Boggart's box.

"Alohomora."

The Boggart burst from its box, immediately taking on the form of a dementor. As it glided toward Harry, the familiar feeling of hopelessness spread throughout the room. Harry winced as the screams began echoing through his head. Staring at the dementor, he gripped his wand tightly, suddenly feeling short of breath. He tried to think of his happy memory- of receiving his Hogwarts letter. "Expecto Patronum," he gasped, flourishing his wand at the dementor. Nothing.

Harry took a deep breath, gathering his strength and resolve. He pictured his memory again, trying to fixate on the emotions he associated with it. Harry grasped desperately at the happy feelings of his memory- feelings of joy and elation as he held and read his Hogwarts letter. Learning that magic was real, that he wasn't a freak, that he belonged somewhere. As the Boggart drifted nearer, Harry stood his ground, allowing happiness to overtake him.

"Expecto Patronum!"

And finally, something happened. A silvery smoke burst from Harry's wand, drifting between him and the dementor. The smoke was thin and wavering, but definitely present. The dementor hovered on the other side of the fog, deterred but not defeated. Harry could feel his wand hand beginning to shake as his energy drained. Taking a step backward, he noticed that the smoke was beginning to thin, and that the dementor was again beginning its approach.

_"Expecto Patronum."_

Before Harry could drop his shield, Snape's own Patronus took over. The now familiar silver doe charged at the dementor without hesitation. As the two collided, the Boggart let out a shriek before retreating back to the safety of its box. Harry felt his wand slip through his fingers and drop to the stone floor. The wispy smoke disappeared within moments, leaving Harry feeling completely drained. Shaky and weak, he leaned against a nearby table, trying to regain his strength.

"Well."

Harry jerked his head up. Snape stood next to the Boggart's box, studying him fixedly. Harry couldn't quite read his professor's expression, but thought that he could see something akin to approval in the man's eyes. However, Harry was nearly certain he'd imagined it, as in the next moment Snape's face grew impassive once more.  
"An improvement, Mr. Potter," the man murmured.

Harry merely stared, his mind dulled from exhaustion.

Snape gazed at Harry a second longer before turning away. "Dismissed," he said, sitting down at his desk and pulling some paperwork toward him.

Harry just stood there, still feeling too dizzy to move. However, after a few moments, Snape jerked his head up from his work. "Are you deaf, Potter?" Snape questioned sharply. "Leave!"

Harry jolted away from the table he leaned against, spurred on by the intensity of Snape's voice. Gathering his things as quickly as possible with his clumsy, shaky hands, Harry exited the office. Shutting the door behind him, he began the long trek back to his dormitory, too tired to even be excited over the fact that he'd _finally_ produced a Patronus.

 

* * *

 

Harry leaned back in the cushioned armchair he sat on, thinking to himself that classroom chairs shouldn't be allowed to be so comfortable. Around him, the sounds of students chatting and the clinking of teacups filled the Divination room. Ron, who sat across from Harry in his own plush armchair, studied his teacup with a heavy frown.

"What do you reckon that's supposed to be?" Ron thrust his teacup toward Harry. "It just looks like a pile of ruddy tea leaves to me."

Harry blinked heavily before looking down at Ron's cup. "Dunno," he yawned. "Maybe a ship, or something…"

Ron pulled the teacup back to his side of the table, staring at the dredges himself. "You think?" he asked, turning the cup from side to side.

Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I dunno. I'm too tired to think."

Ron nodded sympathetically. "Well, what about yours?" he asked, peering over into Harry's cup. "A hat, maybe?"

Harry glanced into the cup again. "Sure," he shrugged. "Why not? It's not like she can complain about it," he added, inclining his head toward Trelawney, who was wandering about the classroom. "She did say it should be our own interpretation…"

"Good point," Ron agreed brightly, tugging the Divination book toward him. "Let's see… ship, ship, ship…" he muttered, thumbing through its pages.

"Ah, boys. What do the fates have in store for you today?"

Harry jolted up, having nearly nodded off again. Trelawney stood next to their table, looking rather bat-like with her spectacle-magnified eyes and draping, voluminous robes.

"Well- Er-" Ron stammered, glancing down at his open Divination text. "Well, I've got a ship in mine, so I'll be… traveling somewhere soon?"

"Ah, yes," Trelawney nodded knowingly. "Winds of change are coming, Mr. Weasley."

Ron nodded brightly, relief that he'd guessed correctly evident in his face. "And Harry, he's got a hat," Ron added, pointing at Harry's cup. "But we're still… um, discerning that one."

Trelawney frowned slightly, reaching out her hand to take hold of Harry's cup. Grasping it delicately by the handle, she held the teacup up to the light, squinting at the leaves caked to its bottom. After a long moment, she let out a loud gasp, letting the cup fall from her hands. It shattered on the stone floor, causing the entire class to go silent and look over as Trelawney grasped her chest dramatically, panting heavily.

"My dear," she gasped, voice heavy with dread. "You have... _the Grim."_

Silence filled the room. Trelawney stared at Harry, her eyes wide and expectant.

"Um… alright," Harry replied rather feebly, unsure of how to respond.

Trelawney let out a low, unearthly moan, looking as though she were about ready to faint. "No, my boy!" she groaned, sinking into a nearby armchair. "You don't understand! The Grim… is the omen of _death."_

She hissed this last word, allowing her voice to carry throughout the room. The class was silent for a mere second before gasps and whispers broke out amongst the students.

Harry could practically feel the stares of his classmates. The back of his neck prickled uncomfortably. Sinking down in his chair, he nodded weakly at Trelawney who was still staring at him steadily, eyes unblinking.

"My dear," she murmured, gripping the arms of her chair tightly. "Surely you understand what this means? What precautions you must take?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Harry nodded, swallowing heavily. "Of course."

However, it seemed as though Trelawney had already lost interest in this conversation. With another pointed gasp, she swooped from her seat and hurried a few tables over to consult with Parvati and Lavender, who were anxiously examining their own teacups, twin looks of dread and fear plastered on their faces.

As soon as Trelawney was out of earshot, Harry turned to Ron, who was staring blankly at the shards of Harry's teacup. "What the bloody hell's a Grim?" Harry hissed quickly.

"What she said," Ron replied, sounding rather stunned. "Omen of death. Takes the form of a great, black dog. They say once you've seen one, you're destined to die within the month. My uncle saw one once, and he died the very next day."

Harry felt his stomach drop. Clenching his fists tightly, he glanced around the room to make sure no one was listening before replying to Ron.

"I… I saw a big black dog. Night I left the Dursleys."

Ron jerked his body backwards, nearly knocking his own cup from the table. Eyes wide, he regarded Harry with a sort of fascinated horror, his face deathly pale. However, before the conversation could progress, Trelawney hurriedly stood from her seat and dismissed the class, deeming it necessary to "consult with the fates" about this new occurrence. In an unusually subdued manner, the students rose from their seats and began descending from the ladder which served as the exit from the classroom.

Once they were walking down the hall toward Transfiguration, Harry rounded on Ron. "How much time do you think I have left?" he asked quietly, to avoid being overheard. "Before I die?"

"I dunno, mate," Ron replied rather lifelessly. "I suppose it varies."

"Honestly, you two. Don't tell me you actually believe that rubbish?"

Spinning around, Harry was met with the sight of Hermione standing directly behind them, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Blimey, 'Mione," Ron sighed. "Don't just sneak up like that! And where the hell did you come from anyway? We didn't see you in class."

Hermione gave Ron a funny look. "Don't be stupid, Ronald," she quickly replied. "I was there in back the whole time."

Ron shrugged, seemingly dropping the matter. "What, so you don't believe Trelawney's prediction?"

"Of course not," Hermione scoffed. "Honestly, the class seems like one giant joke. As if anyone can actually tell the future from reading tea leaves. I mean, _really._ And Professor Trelawney is just full of hot air. I've heard she predicts the deaths of at least ten students a year, and none of them have ever come true. She just does it for show."

Harry felt the tension within his chest ease a bit. "Good to know," he murmured softly.

Hermione turned toward Harry with a frown. "Not as though I care," she added haughtily, looking away quickly. "I just felt obligated to warn you, since _apparently,_ it's my new duty to do so."

Harry felt himself flush as the memory of his argument with Hermione came rushing back. "Er, yeah, about that…" Harry stammered. "I'm really sorry about last night. I didn't mean it, honest. I was just tired, that's all."

Hermione met Harry's gaze, studying him carefully. "Well, alright then," she replied after a moment of contemplation. "Just don't let it happen again."

"I won't," Harry swore, utterly sincere.

Hermione smiled softly before turning away. "We'd best hurry," she added after a moment. "Or we'll be late to Transfiguration."

 

* * *

 

"Harry, mate, it's past midnight already."

"I know," Harry groaned, setting down his quill and rubbing at his eyes. "You go to bed, Ron. I'll be up as soon as I finish with this."

With a nod and quick goodnight, Ron stood up from the couch, stretched for a moment, and then ascended the stairs to the boys dormitory.

Shaking his head, Harry focused back on the essay in front of him. Four feet on the properties of Charmed Potions, and he had barely half a foot. Feeling anxious, Harry chewed at his lip. He really should have started the assignment sooner, but he'd had absolutely no time in the past few days. Another sleepless night wouldn't kill him, he supposed. And it wasn't as though he really had a choice. He couldn't afford to skive off on a Potions assignment. He was doing poorly enough in the class as it was.

With a sigh, Harry forced himself to scratch out another few sentences. For the next hour, Harry continued to trudge through his essay. As time passed, he could feel himself growing continuously drowsier. Already exhausted, the increasing silence and darkness of the common room didn't help matters as more people went to bed and the fire grew dimmer and dimmer. Soon, the room was empty save for Harry.

Setting down his quill for a moment, Harry blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. Picking up his essay, he tried to read over what he had already written, but his eyes continuously ran over the same words, uncomprehending of their meaning. After a minute, Harry decided the effort was futile. He couldn't understand a word he was reading. Already half-asleep, Harry laid his head down on the table and closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep, he told himself. Just a short rest to relax his tired eyes. However, even as Harry promised himself this, he could feel himself beginning to doze off. After a few moments, he surrendered to sleep, allowing blessed darkness to surround him.

 

_Silence fills the dark room. Hasty footsteps, and then, a familiar voice whispering- secret whispers, warnings of something dark and sinister. Something, someone approaching. And then, suddenly, whispers become screams. Pleas and screams of complete, utter terror. The screams continue, piercing and raw, echoing in the small room. The voice begins to sob brokenly. A blinding, green light. And then as suddenly as the screams began, they stop. Silence fills the dark room. And then, something approaches… drawing nearer, terror fills the room again… a voice, a spell, a light-_

 

With a sharp yell, Harry awoke, jolting up from the table. Heart pounding wildly, he drew in rapid breaths, reality slowly setting in as he left his nightmare behind and realized where he was. Still breathing heavily, Harry simply sat there, trying to catch his breath and control his shaking body. Reaching up to feel at the wetness on his face, Harry realized with sudden horror that he was crying.

Rubbing at his face, Harry closed his eyes tightly, willing the nightmare to leave his mind. It had been many, many years since he'd had a nightmare this bad, and he knew from past experience that the best way to forget was to move on and not dwell on it. Analyzing just made things worse. And Harry didn't want to begin to think about what this dream could have possibly meant.

After another few minutes, Harry gathered up his papers and began to head upstairs. Trying to do any more work tonight was pointless. He was just too tired, and his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

Cracking open his dormitory door, Harry tiptoed inside and quietly latched the door behind him to avoid waking his roommates. He trudged over to his bed and toed off his shoes, pulling his sweater off over his head. Climbing into bed, Harry drew the curtains around him and burrowed underneath his blankets. Closing his aching eyes, he tried to will his mind empty- to think solely of sleep. Still, it was a long time before he finally drifted into a restless sleep, nightmares still lingering heavily in the corners of his mind.

 

* * *

 

"Long night?"

Wearily, Harry glanced up from his bowl of porridge. "You have no idea," he murmured in response to Hermione's question. With a sympathetic nod, Hermione sat down across from him at the Gryffindor table, dishing herself a plate of fresh fruit and buttered toast.

Yawning widely, Harry took another bite of porridge. "I managed to finish the assignment this morning," he continued with a sigh. "But there's no way I'll get a good mark on it. Even I'll admit it's terrible."

Ron, who sat next to Harry, was steadily working his way through a plate towering with bacon and scrambled eggs. Swallowing his mouthful, he shrugged. "Tough luck, mate."

"Yeah," Harry frowned, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.

Neville, who sat on the other side of Hermione, looked up from his own breakfast. "Mine's only two feet long," he moaned, looking rather sick at the thought of this. "I just don't understand anything about these stupid potions! Snape's going to kill me, I just know it."

"You'll be fine, Neville," Hermione soothed gently. Glancing at her watch, the girl suddenly gasped. "I'll see you guys later," she said quickly, standing up and grabbing her unfinished piece of toast. Slinging her book bag over her shoulder, she hurriedly exited the Great Hall toward the North Wing.

"Why's she going that way?" Neville asked, confused. "We have Potions first today."

Harry yawned again. "Dunno… library?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed with a smirk. "You're probably right. Only Hermione would be that anxious to get to the library before class even started!"

 

* * *

 

"Now, Fred and George, I want you two to focus on speed this season. Speed is crucial. I've heard rumors that Hufflepuff has already started special speed training regimens for their Beaters! We can't afford to fall behind this season."

"Hufflepuff?"

"Fall behind _them?_ Do you really have such little faith in us, Oliver?"

"I mean, really. Anderson can't even tell a Bludger from his own arse."

Laughter broke out amongst the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Even Harry had to smile slightly at Fred and George's bantering. It was their first Quidditch practice of the year, and already Oliver Wood was beginning to obsess.

Oliver frowned in annoyance. "Come on you guys. This is our last chance to win the cup as a team! It's my last chance, period. I just want to make this year count for something, alright?"

Fred clapped Oliver on the shoulder, grinning impishly. "Don't worry Oliver, we're just teasing you. Of course we're going to win this year. There's no question about it, especially not with you as our Captain."

Oliver hid his grin, sheepishly knocking Fred's arm from his shoulder. Clearing his throat slightly, he turned to face the rest of the team. "Ok guys, mock game- usual positions. Remember the strategy we discussed, alright? And Harry, don't catch the snitch until one team's ahead by at least a hundred points- I don't want the game ending too quickly."

Harry nodded his agreement. Chatter broke out amongst the team as they took to the sky. Mounting his broomstick, Harry kicked off from the ground, feeling his heart leap in exhilaration as he soared across the pitch. Apart from his friends, there wasn't anything he missed more during the summer than Quidditch. There was nothing quite like it. Circling higher and higher above the ground, Harry squinted at the figures below him as they began their game.

Continuing to circle the pitch lazily, Harry let his mind wander as he waited for the game to progress. The afternoon sun beat down on him, making Harry feel even drowsier than he already was. Yawning widely, he stretched his arms above his head, trying to wake himself up. Descending slightly, he attempted to watch the game going on below to give his mind something to do. He watched the players fly below him in a half-interested, uncomprehending manner.

"Harry! Harry, look out!"

Jolted out of his stupor, Harry turned around in time to see a Bludger heading straight toward him. Shooting upwards, he managed to avoid a straight-on collision with the Bludger. However, it managed to clip him hard on the shoulder as it flew past. Wincing, Harry grabbed at his arm, pain spreading rapidly in the spot where the Bludger had hit. Harry heard Oliver's whistle sound from somewhere below.

"Harry, are you alright? Come on, let's land."

Harry nodded at George, who had flown up next to him. Gently taking Harry's uninjured arm, George began to descend, pulling Harry down with him.

As the two of them landed on the ground, Harry staggered off his broomstick, trying to rub the throbbing pain from his shoulder.

"Alright there, Harry?" Oliver asked, voice concerned, as he landed next to George and Harry.

"Yeah," Harry replied, flexing his fingers, trying not to wince at the pain that shot through his arm with the motion. "Just bruised, I think. It didn't hit too hard."

Oliver studied Harry's face for a moment before nodding curtly. "Good," he replied briskly. "Can't have an injured Seeker. If you think you're still well enough to play, let's start again. Only this time, pay attention to where the Bludgers are, eh?"

Rather embarrassed, Harry nodded in agreement. Ignoring the pain in his arm, Harry mounted his broomstick and took off into the sky, vowing to be more attentive for the rest of the game.

 

* * *

 

"Good game, Harry-kins!"

Harry smiled at George as he ruffled his hair. "Thanks," he grinned, knocking George's hand off his head. "I try."

George laughed good-naturedly, turning away from Harry to exit the boys changing room. "See you later, then," he called as he exited, waving briefly to Harry.

"Bye," Harry called back, waving in response. As soon as the door had swung shut behind George, Harry quickly lowered his arm, wincing at the pain which shot through it at the action. He'd managed to finish the game and catch the Snitch, but it hadn't been easy with a bum arm. That Bludger must have hit him harder than he'd thought, Harry mused, rubbing at his aching shoulder.

Undressing hurriedly, Harry shoved his Quidditch gear into his locker. He had a lesson with Snape in less than twenty minutes, and he definitely didn't want to be late. After a quick shower, Harry changed back into his school clothes and began his trek down to the dungeons. Already, the euphoria brought on by flying was wearing off, and dread began to course through Harry's stomach. Completely drained from a week of sleepless nights, Harry definitely didn't feel up to fighting the Boggart today.

Reaching Snape's office, Harry found the door already open. Inside the room, Snape sat at his desk, completely engrossed in his work. Harry hovered in the door-frame, unsure of whether he should just enter or announce his presence. However, in the next moment, Snape looked up from his desk. Spotting Harry, he smiled rather nastily.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Come in," Snape drawled. "I was just grading your essay."

Feeling his stomach churn, Harry entered the office and deposited his things in the corner. After a moment, Snape continued speaking.

"Hopefully, your performance today will be better than your performance on this assignment," the Professor tutted, gesturing toward the paper in front of him.

Harry glanced at Snape's desk, feeling himself flush as he saw a sea of red covering his essay. "Yes sir," he murmured, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

Setting down his quill, Snape quickly gathered his papers into a neat stack. "Well, let's begin," Snape sighed. Standing up, the professor walked to the cupboard in the corner of the room, retrieved the Boggart's box, and set it in the center of the office floor.

"Seeing as you managed to produce vapor in our last lesson, I expect you to progress even further today. I want to see a corporal Patronus- a Patronus with actual form- by the end of this lesson. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Yes sir."

"Very well," Snape replied shortly. "Alohomora."

Taking a deep breath, Harry planted his feet firmly on the ground and pointed his wand at the Boggart's box. After a brief moment, the box swung open, and a thick black smoke spilled from its depths, quickly taking the form of a dementor.

Drawing in rapid breaths, Harry felt the familiar despair and hopelessness settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. Even more strongly than normal, he could feel the dementor's presence affecting him- draining him of spirit and what little energy he had. Taking a step backwards, Harry felt as though he were moving much too slowly, as though through some sort of haze. He felt the room spin around him- he couldn't seem to catch his breath. And then, the screaming began. Ears ringing, Harry could hardly focus his eyes on the dementor in front of him. It took all his effort to simply remember to breath. Through the din in his mind, he heard someone calling to him, shouting for him to do something…

However, Harry couldn't remember what he was meant to do. He could remember anything. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe- and before he could do anything about it, the dementor was on him, and he was trapped inside a familiar nightmare.

 

_Silence fills the dark room. And then, rapid footsteps approach. The door slams open- a familiar face, pinched with fear, soothes and whispers. And then, another figure in the doorway- tall, dark, unfamiliar…_

_"Move, you silly girl. Stand aside!"_

_"No, please, not my baby! Please, kill me instead! Just spare him! Not Harry!"_

_Familiar screams begin. Pleas of terror and desperation, but not for oneself. Pleas for the life of a loved one, for the life of a son. Pleas for Harry._

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_A blinding, green light fills the room. A muted scream, a thud, and then silence. Then, footsteps approach once more, a cackling laugh, a green light-_

 

"Expecto Patronum!" 

Harry came to for a brief moment- just enough time to see a white blur charging at him. However, in the next moment, complete exhaustion and fatigue overtook him. Staggering to the side, Harry felt his legs give out from under him. He was falling, drifting through nothingness. A sharp, sudden pain exploded in the side of his head, and then, Harry knew no more.


	5. Chapter 5

Severus Snape had to admit; he'd been hopeful. Since his last lesson with Potter, when the boy had managed to produce a weak, incorporeal Patronus, he had hoped that these lessons would begin to progress. That Potter would finally grasp the concept, manage to produce a corporal Patronus, and then he'd be free from his obligation for good.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem too likely at the moment. He had just set the Boggart on the boy for the first time that evening, and already Potter looked shaken. As the boy staggered away from the Boggart, Snape sighed heavily. They were practically moving backwards in terms of making progress.

"Potter, attack it! What do you think you're doing?"

The boy didn't respond. Still pale and shaky, he continued to inch further away from the Boggart, looking completely panic-stricken.

Crossing his arms, Snape waited another moment to see if Potter would snap out of his haze and attack, as he'd managed to do during their last lesson. "Focus, Potter!" Snape called out sharply as the Boggart drew even closer.

However, in the next second, before Snape could react, the creature was practically on top of the boy. Reaching out with bony hands, it grasped at Potter's face, pulling the child forward as it let out great, rattling breaths. Snape could see that Potter was already lost in his own mind- eyes blank, mouth gaping…

Hurriedly, Snape pulled himself from his stupor and raised his wand.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

In an instant, the familiar doe burst forth from his wand and charged the Boggart. Shrieking, the creature retreated, releasing the boy's face from its grasp before hurling itself back into its box.

Snape turned toward the boy just in time to see Potter's eyes roll up into the back of his head. Staggering to the side, the boy suddenly collapsed. Before hitting the floor, his head caught on the corner of a nearby table, connecting with a nasty thwack. In moments, the boy was sprawled face-first on the ground.

"Potter!" Snape barked, rushing toward the motionless figure. Reaching the boy, Snape hurriedly grabbed his shoulder and flipped him over. "Potter, get-"

Snape cut himself off when he saw the boy's face. Crimson blood covered it, bright red on pale white skin, gushing from a deep gash in his forehead. Instinct kicking in, Snape reached up with his sleeve to cover the gash, pressing down firmly to staunch the bleeding.

"Potter, can you hear me?" Snape murmured next to the boy's ear. "You have to wake up now." No response. The boy remained motionless, limbs flopping disconcertingly as Snape gave him a gentle shake. Checking the wound, Snape cursed softly- the bleeding just wouldn't stop. "Potter? Harry? Harry, can you hear me?" Snape continued, voice raising as he switched to the boy's given name in hopes it would spur a response. However, the child in his arms remained limp and unresponsive, face growing paler by the second.

"Damn it all, Harry," Snape muttered to himself with a groan of frustration. Gingerly, he picked the boy up from the ground, trying his best to both carry him and slow the bleeding. Stepping toward the fireplace with Potter's limp body cradled in his arms, Snape scooped up a handful of Floo power and threw it in the hearth. "Hogwarts's Hospital Wing," he growled, stepping rather awkwardly into the flames.

In moments, the Floo kicked in, tugging both him and the boy away. Seconds later, they were spat out of the Hospital Wing fireplace. Snape staggered slightly from the load in his arms as he stepped out of the hearth. "Poppy!" he called out, glancing about the room wildly. "Poppy, I need you straight away!"

"Good heavens, Severus, whatever's the matter?" Poppy exclaimed, rushing from her office in the corner of the room. Gasping loudly when she saw what Snape carried in his arms, she instantly snapped into Healer mode.

"Lay him here," she commanded, patting a nearby bed. "Gently. That's right. Don't lift your hand from the bleeding just yet."

Snape nodded, doing as Poppy said. Once the boy was situated on the bed, Poppy sat down next to him and deftly lifted Snape's hand away, inspecting the boy's forehead. Tutting softly, she took out her wand and quickly set to work, prodding the boy's injury and muttering a steady stream of spells. "Can you fetch me a Blood Replenishing potion from my stores, Severus?" she asked distractedly after a few moments, still intently focused on healing the boy's injury.

Snape nodded curtly. Walking into Poppy's storeroom in the back of her office, Snape opened one of the cabinets. Quickly identifying the potion by sight, he grabbed it and hurried back out to Poppy and Potter.

"Here." Snape handed the vial to Poppy. Examining the boy's face, he saw that Poppy had managed to heal the gash. Now, she spelled the potion into Potter's stomach. "What happened, Severus?" she asked, setting aside the empty vial. Wetting a rag, she began to gently wipe blood from the boy's face.

Snape swallowed rather harshly, trying to push aside any concern he felt for the child. "Potter and I were having a lesson," he began. "I'm teaching the boy the Patronus charm. We use a Boggart in place of a dementor. Today, when the Boggart came near, the boy collapsed. He hit his head on a table when he fell."

Poppy shook her head softly and frowned, lines of worry etched in her forehead. "Poor Harry," she murmured, taking the boy's slack hand in her own. "He looks exhausted. It can't be easy, facing your worst fear like that."

Snape glanced at Potter's face for a moment before looking away sharply.

After another few minutes of silence, Poppy frowned in concern. "He should be waking by now," she fretted, pushing the boy's hair back from his forehead to examine where the injury had been. "I've already checked for any possible concussion. But head wounds can be a tricky business; it could be he's just sleeping now. Let me run a complete scan to be sure."

Poppy waved her wand over Potter's motionless body, murmuring the spell for a full body scan. A moment later, a piece of parchment with the test results appeared in the woman's hands. Snape watched with vague interest as Poppy scanned over the sheet.

"Hmm," she said after a moment, pursing her lips together. "His left shoulder blade is fractured. You didn't mention he'd hurt that in the fall."

Snape frowned. "He didn't," he responded shortly, watching as Poppy tapped the boy's shoulder with her wand, quickly mending the broken bone. "He only hit his head when he fell. I'm certain."

Poppy didn't respond, already engrossed in Potter's medical scan once more. Murmuring softy to herself, she ran a finger down the parchment. "Something's not right here," she finally stated, looking up and meeting Snape's eyes with a look of deep concern. "This child's suffering from severe exhaustion- both physical and magical. His magical core is even slightly depleted."

Snape's eyes widened. Depleted cores were serious business. If levels dropped too low, permanent damage could be done to a wizard's magic. Depletion only occurred when a wizard performed repetitive, excessive magic, far beyond their capacity. It was rare, and it was dangerous.

Poppy must have noticed his change in expression. In the next moment, the witch's face turned hard. "Severus Snape," she breathed, voice like ice. "Exactly _what_ have you been doing during these lessons?"

Snape swallowed harshly, managing to compose his features before responding. "Exactly what I told you. Potter has been facing a Boggart and practicing the Patronus charm against it."

Poppy's expression remained stony. "And how often do you have these lessons? Exactly how hard have you been pushing this child? Producing a Patronus requires a great deal of magic, as I understand it! I know you, Severus Snape. I know all about your feelings toward this boy! Do you really hate him so much as to do him _this_ degree of harm?"

"I- of course not!" Snape retorted quickly, if rather in-eloquently. Flushing slightly at Poppy's implications, he tried to defend himself. "I haven't pushed him any harder than I'd any other student!"

Poppy practically growled. "I understand the degree of magic that must have been performed to reach this level of damage. It is past that of many full-grown wizards, let alone a thirteen year old boy! Did you even think to offer him Pepper-up, or at least some chocolate during these lessons?"

Snape's silence seemed to be enough of an answer for the woman. Within moments, she was on top of Snape, roughly pushing him towards the door.

"Out! OUT!" she roared, shoving at Snape's back relentlessly. "The Headmaster _will_ be informed of this! But right now, I need complete concentration to try and mend this child and preserve his magic! I can't be focusing on _you_ at this moment!"

With that, Snape was physically forced from the Hospital Wing. With an angry flick of her wand, Poppy quickly shut and latched the door behind him. Uncharacteristically stunned, Snape simply stood still for a moment, a rush of confused thoughts whirling through his mind. Glancing down, he noted in a detached manner that his sleeves and hands were stained red with Potter's blood.

For a second, Snape felt rather ill. Pulling out his wand, he quietly cast a self-cleaning spell. The blood easily disappeared, leaving his hands and robes spotless. For a long moment, Snape simply stared at where the blood had been. Shaking himself from his stupor, he hurriedly pulled his emotions in check.

Turning, Snape began the trek to Albus' office. He intended to inform the Headmaster of what had transpired before Poppy got the chance to twist the truth. However, despite these thoughts, a unusual twinge of guilt had managed to nestle itself firmly in Snape's stomach, so strong that even years of Occlumency training weren't enough to suppress it completely.

 

* * *

 

Darkness surrounded Harry, engulfing him completely. He could hear voices whispering above him, but couldn't quite bring himself to wake up. Cocooned in warmth, he felt more exhausted than he could ever recall feeling, and more comfortable than he'd been in a long while. Shifting slightly, Harry forced his eyes open, squinting, trying to see where he was.

Everything was blurry without his glasses, and Harry could barely get his eyes to focus through his fatigue, but the bright lights and starch white walls of the Hospital Wing were a familiar sight. Blinking rapidly, Harry attempted to sit up, but quickly gave up upon realizing how shaky and weak he was.

In the next moment, a blurred figure appeared at the side of his bed- Madame Pomfrey, Harry recognized. The woman placed her hand on his head, gently combing her fingers through his hair. "How are you feeling, Harry?" she questioned in a soft voice.

Harry managed to shrug. "M' ok. Tired."

Madam Pomfrey humphed slightly. "I should say so," she replied. "Do you remember what happened?"

Harry tried to search through the haze which was his mind. "I was at my lesson," he finally managed to respond. "Think I collapsed again."

Pomfrey nodded in confirmation. "You hit your head rather hard when you fell. Professor Snape had to bring you up here, where I then discovered what condition you were in. Physically exhausted, your magical core damaged- not to mention a broken shoulder! What were you thinking, Harry, allowing yourself to get in that sort of state?"

Harry blinked dumbly, uncomprehending. "Hurt my arm at Quidditch," he finally managed to reply, yawning widely. "M'tired." Closing his eyes, Harry nestled back down into his cocoon of blankets.

Pomfrey's face softened. "Go back to sleep, Harry," she commanded gently, tugging the blankets up to his chin. "We'll speak more later."

Harry didn't respond, already asleep once more.

 

* * *

 

"Severus, I must say, I'm quite disappointed in you."

Snape glanced up sharply at the Headmaster's words, his brow furrowing. "I've told you already, Albus. I didn't intend to harm the boy. I simply gave him lessons, as you requested. If he hadn't-"

Albus held up his hand, effectively silencing Snape. With a weary sigh, the Headmaster rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses. After a moment of tense silence, he spoke once more.

"I don't accuse you of intentionally harming Harry. But clearly, you've been pushing the boy too far. You either didn't notice, or didn't care about the strain you were placing on him, and that concerns me greatly."

Snape shook his head. "Honestly, Albus, I simply assumed the boy was being lazy. I suppose I was a _bit_ harsh, but I was just trying to get him to show some initiative for once. He was producing dismal results, and hardly putting forth any effort."

"Severus," Albus sighed. "You do understand that Harry is but thirteen? And that you're teaching him the Patronus charm- a spell than many fully matured wizards are incapable of casting. You expect too much of the child."

Snape avoided Albus' gaze and remained silent, unwilling to admit his faults.

The Headmaster regarded Snape with a solemn expression. "Perhaps this arrangement was a mistake," he murmured after a moment. "I thought you'd be able to overlook your grudge against Harry's father and teach the boy what he needs to learn. I thought you understood the necessity of this situation."

"I do understand," Snape interrupted vehemently.

Albus sighed wearily. "I know you do, my boy. But things cannot continue as they are. Poppy has informed me that Harry will make a full recovery, but if he hadn't been brought to her when he was, things could have ended much differently."

Snape's stomach knotted painfully at the accusatory tone of the Headmaster's voice. Nodding once in assertion, Snape stared intently at the wall across from Albus' desk.

After another moment of silence, the Headmaster smiled at Snape, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Come, my boy. All's well that ends well. Harry will be just fine with a day or two of rest, and then you can resume your lessons."

Snape glanced up sharply. "You don't intend to end the lessons, then?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "I know you meant no true harm. That being said, you cannot allow your prejudice to blind you again. Harry is not his father, and it is about time you act as an adult and realize that. Be fair to Harry. Treat him well, be patient, and teach him what you can. Do you understood what I'm asking, Severus?" His voice was mild, but behind this facade, the man's gaze remained harsh and unwavering.

"Certainly, Albus," Snape replied softly, though he met the Headmaster's eyes with an equal intensity.

 

* * *

 

Snape stood in a corner of the Hospital Wing, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He watched as Potter slept, his face peaceful and undisturbed in sleep. Shifting his weight, Snape repressed a sigh. He had come to apologize to the boy at Albus' insistence. He wasn't foolish enough to refuse the Headmaster's demand after so narrowly avoiding more serious retribution.

Snape pursed his lips. Leave it to Potter to be asleep when he'd come to apologize to the brat. It had been nearly a full day since he'd brought Potter to the Hospital Wing- ample time for the boy to recover, in Snape's opinion. However, when Poppy had begrudgingly allowed him entrance, it had come with a lengthy warning. Something to the extent of not disturbing her patient, and allowing him sufficient time and rest to recover from his _ordeal._

He watched the boy for another few minutes, observing him in silence. He sneered; in sleep, Potter looked positively angelic. Dark lashes curled over flushed cheeks, the child's expression unguarded and relaxed. And yet, signs of the exhaustion of which Poppy spoke were evident upon closer examination. The boy had heavy, dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pale and thin. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and his breathing sounded somewhat labored.

Frowning, Snape took in the boy's features, realization slowly dawning. The boy looked positively ill. Perhaps, Snape mused with some chagrin, Albus' argument held a small degree of merit. It was possible that he had been slightly too demanding, and pushed a bit too hard during the boy's lessons. After all, he was still a child, though admittedly a lazy and complacent one.

Suddenly, Potter's face twisted into a contorted grimace, and he let out a small moan, either in nightmare or in pain. Without thought, Snape reached out a hand toward the child, though to do what he did not know. However, in the next moment, the boy's face relaxed, returning to normal as quickly as the pained expression had occurred.

Hand still hovering over the boy, Snape's stomach churned in bitter realization. In sleep, with his eyes closed, the child was the spitting image of James Potter.

Hurriedly, Snape withdrew his hand from the boy in disgust. Without sparing him a second glance, Snape turned and quickly exited the Hospital Wing, absolutely revolted with himself and the moment of weakness he'd just shown. It had meant nothing, he told himself, though he couldn't completely suppress the doubt he felt at this weak reassurance.

Raising his Occlumency shields to full force, Snape made a final, desperate attempt to shove back the wave of memory and emotion which threatened to overwhelm him.


	6. Chapter 6

When Harry next woke, the room was shrouded in darkness. Disoriented, he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. His mind felt strangely fuzzy, and he was slow to come to awareness. Gradually, consciousness returned to him, and he recognized the room he was in as the Hospital Wing.

Still lying in bed, Harry glanced around the room in confusion- what was he doing here? It was nighttime, and the room was empty aside from Harry. Closing his eyes, he fought to gather his memories. He'd been in a lesson with Snape- he remembered that much. However, the memories after that were hazy. He remembered trying to fight the Boggart, but uncertainty followed after that.

Abruptly, a wave of dizziness hit Harry. Head reeling, he clenched the bed sheets between his fists, waiting until the spell passed. Breathing a sigh of relief when the dizziness and subsequent nausea finally subsided, Harry frowned, confused as to why he felt so awful.

"Ah, Harry. I hoped to find you awake."

Jolting upright in bed with a strangled gasp, Harry glanced wildly about the hospital wing for the source of the disembodied voice. In the next moment, a tall figure emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room. Heart still pounding, Harry struggled to recognize the darkened figure until a beam of moonlight illuminated a familiar face- Professor Dumbledore.

Stopping as he reached Harry's bed, the Headmaster began to speak, his voice soft. "I do apologize, Harry. I quite forgot that you were unaware of my presence. I assure you, it was not my intention to startle you."

Harry dropped back down against his pillow as the adrenaline rush wore off, fatigue overwhelming him once more. "S'ok, Professor," he replied, voice scratchy from disuse.

With a small nod, Dumbledore swept his silver dressing gown aside and sat at the foot of Harry's bed. "I won't keep you long, my boy," he smiled gently. "You'll need your sleep, I imagine. I was just wandering about the halls, and decided to peek in on you. My finding you awake was quite the happy coincidence."

Somehow, Harry doubted this encounter was by chance- nothing with Dumbledore ever was- but he kept his mouth shut all the same. "What am I doing here, Professor?" Harry questioned, managing to suppress a yawn.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Why, you collapsed during your lesson with Professor Snape yesterday. Madam Pomfrey informed me that you were suffering from a severe case of magical exhaustion. As it turns out, your magical core had begun to deplete itself. You gave us all quite a fright, I'm afraid. But not to worry- with a few days of rest, I've been assured you'll make a full recovery."

Harry blinked slowly. "Magical exhaustion?" he finally repeated, brow furrowing in confusion. "But why?"

Dumbledore smiled patiently. "Because of your lessons, Harry. Casting a Patronus is advanced, complex magic, and performing the charm can be quite draining. I'm afraid that the proper precautions to prevent fatigue weren't taken during your lessons with Professor Snape. That, combined with the sheer frequency and duration of your lessons led to your subsequent magical exhaustion."

Silence followed this statement as Harry's tired mind struggled to process what the Headmaster had said. Slowly, memories of the past week came back to him. He remembered his last lesson with Snape- how completely drained he had felt after a week of lessons, homework, and Quidditch practice. He remembered the Boggart approaching him during his lesson, and not having the energy to cast a Patronus. He remembered a green light-

Harry's stomach clenched as a sudden wave of nausea washed over him. He remembered what he'd seen when the Boggart had touched him- his mother, begging Voldemort to kill her instead of her infant son, and Voldemort, fulfilling her final request.

Suddenly, everything became horribly clear to Harry. This woman- the woman whose screams haunted his recent nightmares- this woman was his _mother._ And when he got close to dementors, he could hear her dying.

"…end them, of course."

Harry jolted back into awareness, suddenly tuning in to what Dumbledore was saying. "Huh?" he questioned dumbly, staring at the Headmaster with wide eyes.

Dumbledore simply smiled. "I was saying, my boy, that we can cancel your lessons with Professor Snape straight away. I can hardly imagine you're eager to continue after what's transpired."

Harry felt strangely numb. "No," he replied after a moment, shaking his head slowly. "No, I need these lessons. I- I want to continue. I can, right?" he questioned, frantically meeting the Headmaster's gaze.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled furiously. "If you so desire. However, I must insist that the frequency and intensity of these lessons be scaled back- we can't risk further damage to your magical core. I'll speak with Professor Snape, and I'll be sure to keep a close, personal eye on your progress. I'm sure you've no objections to that?"

A wave of relief washed over Harry. "Yeah, that's fine," he responded, blinking heavily.

"Very well. And now, I'll leave you to sleep. You need your rest, and I find myself suddenly weary."

With that, the Headmaster rose from his place on Harry's bed. "Goodnight, my boy," he murmured, turning to depart.

"G'night," Harry responded as Dumbledore exited the room, disappearing from sight into the shadowy corridor.

Exhaling shakily, Harry closed his eyes, completely and utterly drained. However, despite his overwhelming fatigue, it still took some time for Harry to drift into an uneasy sleep. That night, his dreams were haunted by flashes of light and shrill screams.

 

* * *

 

"You sure you're feeling alright, Harry? You were sleeping for ages."

"Yeah, I feel great," Harry assured Ron with a stifled yawn. Swinging his legs down off the Hospital Wing bed, he stretched his arms above his head, sighing in relief as his joints popped into place. Hermione stood nearby, her face pinched with concern.

"I don't know, Harry," she murmured thoughtfully. "You've been here for nearly three days. Are you sure you feel up to leaving? You don't think you should rest another night?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine now," he said confidently. "I feel better than I have in ages. Besides, Madam Pomfrey cleared me to leave, and I'll sleep better in my own bed anyway."

Hermione huffed, shaking her head. "I can't believe this, Harry. Damaging your core like that- have you any idea how dangerous that was? And Professor Snape- he's partially to blame, of course. I can't believe that he didn't recognize the warning signs!"

Harry shrugged slightly, grabbing the stack of clothes that Ron held out to him. "It's not that big a deal, Hermione," he continued speaking as he closed the curtain around the bed, pulling off the standard-issued pajamas and changing into his own clothes. "I wasn't _really_ hurt, and Pomfrey already lectured me enough as is. Plus, Dumbledore came and talked to me about all this. He said that my lessons won't be so draining from now on, so there's no chance this will happen again." Emerging from behind the curtain, Harry could see from Hermione's expression that his reassurances had done nothing to appease her concern.

"You're continuing the lessons? After everything that's happened?" Hermione questioned briskly. Behind her, Ron also looked startled at Harry's statement.

Hesitating only slightly, Harry nodded once in assertion. "I really want to learn to cast a Patronus, you guys," he replied softly. "I was making progress- I really was. I need to do this, I just-" Harry's voice cut off, and he swallowed thickly. "I just do," he finished, gazing fixedly at the ground, reluctant to elaborate- to even think about his mother's death- the scene replayed itself in his mind too frequently as it was.

Hermione's face softened. "I understand, Harry. I really do. Just promise me you'll be more careful, alright? Don't push yourself so hard again."

"Yeah," Ron chimed it. "What Hermione said." A moment of silence followed this statement, before Ron grinned broadly. "Well, should we head out or what? We'll miss dinner, and I'm starving. Plus, you've got to be sick of the Hospital Wing food by now."

Harry smiled. "Definitely," he agreed, following his friends out the door without hesitation.

 

* * *

 

Harry cupped his hand against his cheek and let out a quiet sigh. Next to him, Ron slowly stirred their cauldron of Calming Draught. Stirred one hundred times exactly, counterclockwise, at a cautious pace, Snape had written on the blackboard. Face furrowed in concentration, Ron continued to stir carefully, tongue poking out his mouth as he kept count under his breath.

It was Harry's first class back since he'd been released from the Hospital Wing. Hermione had graciously lent him all her notes from the classes he'd missed, but Harry was still worried he'd end up falling behind with all the work he had to catch up on.

Eyes wandering about the classroom, Harry let his gaze fall on Snape, who was hunched over a pile of papers at his desk. That was another thing that worried Harry- Snape. Normally brimming with snide remarks, Snape had been abnormally silent today. He hadn't come near Harry and Ron's cauldron to critique their potion, made any demeaning comments, or even glanced at Harry once during the entire class. All in all, it was rather alarming, Harry mused. Plus, Snape hadn't breathed a word about continuing his lessons. When Dumbledore had visited Harry, he had assured him that the lessons would continue. However, Harry was certain that if Snape had his way, the man would take this as a welcome opportunity to stop their lessons for good.

"One hundred. Done," Ron breathed a sigh of relief, backing away from the now boiling cauldron and wiping his sweaty forehead. "Now what?"

"Er," Harry replied, blinking down at his notes. "Add the beetle eyes." And with that, Harry's thoughts about Snape were forgotten as he once more engrossed himself in the lesson.

An hour later, Ron and Harry were left with a cauldron of a light blue, slightly transparent potion. "Looks good to me," Ron breathed a sigh of relief, glancing back and forth between the book's description and their own potion. "Maybe we'll actually get decent marks on this one."

Harry nodded. "That'd be nice," he agreed easily. Ladling the potion into a vial, Harry carefully corked and labeled his sample. He certainly hoped to receive at least an Acceptable on this brewing- he definitely needed the marks. Snape had handed back their last essays at the beginning of class- the one Harry had hastily written in one sleep-deprived night. He'd managed to scrape out a Poor instead of a Dreadful, but it was still a failing grade. He couldn't afford any more failing marks if he wanted to stand a chance of passing Potions this year. Standing up, Harry grabbed his and Ron's vials to bring up to Snape.

Reaching the professor's desk, Harry swallowed against a lump in his throat as he set the vials down in the designated pile. He eyed the professor cautiously for any sign of reaction- however, Snape continued writing furiously, head down, and didn't seem to even notice Harry standing in front of him. Turning to return to his seat, Harry startled when a voice sounded from behind him.

"Stay after class, Mr. Potter," Snape breathed quietly. "There are matters which we must discuss."

Harry suppressed a shiver. "Yes sir," he replied, before hurriedly making his way back to his seat.

Sliding into his chair, Harry whispered under his breath to Ron. "Snape wants to see me after class. You and Hermione go on to lunch without me."

Ron's eyes grew wide, but he nodded in assertion. "Ok, mate. I'll save you a plate."

"Thanks," Harry replied. "Hopefully I won't be too long."

Several minutes later, Snape dismissed the class. Shooting Harry a pitying look, Ron grabbed Hermione by the arm and tugged her towards the door against her protestations, muttering under his breath as he explained what was going on.

Within moments, the classroom had emptied completely. "Come forward, Mr. Potter," Snape spoke, still not looking up from his desk.

Heart pounding wildly, Harry slung his book bag over his shoulder and shuffled toward the front of the room.

Snape wrote for a few moments more before setting down his quill and looking up at Harry, his face stoic.

"I trust you've fully recovered after your stay in the Hospital Wing, Mr. Potter?"

Harry stared. "Um, yeah," he responded after a moment. "I'm fine now, sir."

Snape gave him an appraising look which had Harry bristling in discomfort. After a moment, the professor simply nodded. "Good. If you're feeling up to it then, we'll resume lessons this coming Monday. I believe reducing the lessons to twice per week should be sufficient."

"Yes sir," Harry replied mildly, trying not to let the relief he felt at the man's words show on his face. Snape wasn't canceling the lessons after all, as Harry had feared may be the case.

Snape hesitated for a moment before continuing to speak, his face expressionless and voice calculated with his next words.

"Perhaps, Mr. Potter, I was a touch too ambitious in regards to my expectations for your performance during our lessons. This may have contributed to your overexertion, and consequentially, your being injured. In light of what has transpired, it seems only fitting to offer my apologies."

Harry's eyes widened abruptly at the professor's last statement, and it was only with great self-restraint that he was able to stop his mouth from falling open. Honestly, he didn't know what sort of response he'd expected from Snape, but an apology certainly hadn't been it. Uncertain of how to respond, he simply stared in stunned silence.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, Potter," Snape growled, his face twisting into a familiar, yet strangely comforting sneer. "It's entirely uncalled for."

Harry flushed, abruptly glancing away. A terse silence followed, and Harry felt as though he should add something to the conversation.

"I'm sorry too, Professor," he blurted out suddenly, before he lost his nerve. "You know, for being such a bother and all," he quickly added upon seeing the startled look on Snape's face. "I know you don't have to teach me this, and I really do appreciate it, I swear."

Snape's face smoothed over into an inexpressive mask, and when he spoke, Harry couldn't quite identify his tone. "Dismissed, Mr. Potter," he said smoothly, giving Harry a single nod of affirmation before withdrawing his gaze and busying himself with paperwork once more.

Beyond relieved at the dismissal, Harry spun around and practically jogged from the room, face burning with humiliation. However, once he was halfway to the Great Hall and his embarrassment had somewhat dissipated, Harry's thoughts became fixated on Snape's strange apology. As uncomfortable as their conversation had been, Harry found himself thinking that it'd been the most civil encounter he and Snape had ever had.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he could no longer hear Potter's hurried footsteps echoing through the dungeon, Snape set his quill down and dropped the pretense of writing, exhaling heavily.

It had been difficult enough for him to apologize to the boy- he was certainly not one to easily admit his wrongdoings. That he'd managed to form as civil an apology as he had was a small wonder. Of course, then Potter had to go and turn the simple affair into something more through the act of apologizing himself.

Typical Potter, Snape mused. Making the situation all about himself. However, this accusation was halfhearted at best, and it settled like lead in Snape's stomach.

Suppressing a groan, Snape closed his eyes, rubbing his temples in an attempt to ward off the headache he felt fast approaching. He could still hear the boy's words echoing in his mind. What was this nonsense about Potter appreciating him? And for Merlin's sake, the child had actually apologized for being a _bother._ Snape snorted in incredulous disbelief.

And yet, even with his attempts to downplay the significance of what had just transpired, a single, recurring thought kept itself firmly rooted in Snape's mind. The speculation that James Potter would have never dared apologize to a Professor, especially for something as trivial as being bothersome. Potter and his minions were always above acts such as apology or self-reproach.

Snape swallowed against the sudden, sour taste in his mouth. No- to apologize as the boy had was much more resemblant of his mother. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, this was something Lily would have done. And though he was loathe to admit it, the thought of this absolutely terrified Severus Snape.


	7. Chapter 7

Looking up at the clear, blue sky above him, Harry grinned broadly. This was why Care of Magical Creatures was probably his favorite class- any lesson that could be held outdoors ranked highly in his book. So much better than sitting in the stuffy, dank dungeon for Potions, he mused. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he smiled and flopped down into the grass, stretching his limbs with a groan of satisfaction.

Hermione squinted down at him. "You'll dirty your robes, Harry," she chided with a small smile.

"Don't care," Harry replied happily, folding his arms under his head and closing his eyes against the bright sunlight.

He heard Ron snort in amusement from somewhere above him. The trio sat waiting outside Hagrid's hut. Their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson was to begin in twenty minutes. They'd arrived early at Harry's insistence that Hagrid could probably use their help setting up for his very first lesson. However, the soon-to-be professor hadn't answered their knocks on his door. "He's probably off in the Forbidden Forest somewhere, finding some monster that'll kill our entire class," Ron had said, only half-joking.

And so the three of them sat waiting in the bright sunlight, chatting with each other as the rest of the class slowly arrived.

"I wonder what Hagrid's going to do for his first lesson? I mean, it's Hagrid- he's great and all, but…" Ron frowned slightly.

Hermione nodded. "I agree. Hagrid doesn't exactly strike me as the "teaching" type."

"Come on, you two," Harry sighed, pushing himself up off the ground. "Have some faith. I'm sure Hagrid will be a brilliant professor. Really!" he insisted, seeing the expressions of doubt on his friends' faces. "I bet we'll learn all sorts of interesting stuff!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at that, but remained silent.

By now, most of the other students had arrived. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike stood waiting, mulling around Hagrid's hut, until it was five, and then ten past the hour.

Hermione glared at her wristwatch in frustration. "Where is he? Some of us have a rather tight class schedule to keep!"

Harry frowned, and tried to muster more conviction in his voice than he actually felt. "I'm sure he'll be here any minute now."

Another ten minutes passed. Finally, Hagrid appeared, emerging from the Forbidden Forest. Ron gave a small moan of distress beside Harry. Seeing the group of students waiting for him, he lumbered over toward his class.

"Ah, yer all here early then," Hagrid appraised his class with a smile as he wiped his filthy hands on his trousers.

Someone sniggered. "Stupid oaf," Harry heard Malfoy's voice carry through the crowd of students. Harry clenched his fists in anger as the Slytherins began to laugh nastily. Hagrid simply stood there, his confusion obvious.

Hermione coughed softly. "Ah, Hagrid, class was to begin at three…" she whispered hastily.

Hagrid's face fell. "Was it now-" he laughed in obvious embarrassment, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, suppose that's that then. Can't do nothin' bout it now, so we best get on with the lesson," he stated matter of factly. "Follow me then," Hagrid gave a great wave of his arm and turned, trudging back around his house.

The group of students reluctantly followed behind him. Ron gave a loud sigh of relief as Hagrid walked away from the Forbidden Forest, instead heading toward a large, fenced-in area of land. Stopping next to a wooden gate, Hagrid pulled a large necklace of keys from around his neck and unlocked it.

"Well, get inside then, you lot," Hagrid held the gate open and gestured for the students to enter. "You can all come and say 'ello to Buckbeak!"

Neville gave a small whimper next to Harry. "What's a Buckbeak?" he whispered worriedly.

Harry shrugged. Walking forward, trying to set a good example, he entered through the gate without hesitation. Hagrid favored him with a large smile. Slowly, the rest of the class followed Harry's example. Hagrid latched the gate behind them, and once again gestured for the students to follow.

Making their way to the back of the pen, toward a cluster of trees, Hagrid suddenly put up his hands and shushed the group loudly, even though no one was making a sound.

"There!" he whispered with excitement, pointing his finger toward the thicket of trees. "There he is! Ain't he a beauty?"

The students crained their necks around Hagrid, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever he pointed to. Harry felt his stomach drop to his feet as a strange creature suddenly emerged from the trees.

Harry didn't quite know how to describe the creature. It seemed to be part horse, part eagle, and was wholly terrifying. The size of a large stallion, the creature was covered in gray feathers and had a large pair of wings attached to its back. With the face of a bird-of-prey, it also possessed a long, curved beak and razor sharp claws on each hoofed foot. Screeching terribly, "Buckbeak" took a step forward, his yellow eyes piercing and unblinking. Several students jumped backwards, and one Slytherin girl behind Harry gave a stifled yell of terror.

"Shhh," Hagrid hushed the group hurriedly. "Quiet now, he don't much care for noise!"

The class continued to watch in quiet horror as Buckbeak gave their group one more measured look, then turned and bent over to eat what looked like a beheaded ferret.

"Hagrid, what- what _is_ he?" Hermione whispered after a minute of tense silence.

Hagrid watched Buckbeak eat his meal with a fond smile. "A Hippogriff," he stated proudly. "Rather rare creature. We're lucky to have a prime specimen like Buckbeak here."

Lucky wasn't exactly the word Harry would use to describe the situation. Buckbeak, having finished devouring his meal, was now staring at the group of students with a look Harry could only describe as _hungry._

"Don't look 'im straight in the eyes," Hagrid hastily instructed the group of terrified students. "They don't much like that, Hippogriffs. Very proud creatures."

The class was quick to avert their gazes. Appeased, Buckbeak gave a measured squawk and began to preen his feathers.

"Well then," Hagrid clapped his hands together. "Who wants to pet him first?"

Rather unsurprisingly, nobody volunteered. Hagrid glanced around the group of students. "Ah… how 'bout you, Harry? Want to give him a quick pet?"

Harry very much did not want to do this, but didn't know how to say as much without ruining Hagrid's first class. Torn between his loyalty to Hagrid and his fierce desire to not lose a hand, Harry simply shrugged.

Hagrid beamed, taking that as an agreement. "Wonderful," he exclaimed, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Well then, step on forward. That's right. Now walk up to him, slowly. Remember the thing about the eyes. There, that's about close enough now."

Heart pounding, Harry stopped about ten feet shy of the Hippogriff, very deliberately looking somewhere above the creature's head.

"Good," Hagrid said brightly. "Now, go ahead and give a bow. That shows yer respect toward the creature and that you mean him no harm. We'll see if he returns the gesture- that means he finds ya trustworthy."

Quick to obey, Harry gave such a low bow, his back ached from the effort. Swallowing harshly, he held his position. His glasses began to slip down the bridge of his sweaty nose but he didn't dare move to push them back up.

After a long, tense moment, the Hippogriff gave a gruff snort and returned Harry's bow.

Hagrid gave a low whistle. "Well done, Harry! You can get up now- reckon he'll let you pet him, go on then!"

Harry stood up straight, eyeing Buckbeak with extreme caution. The creature watched him with a sort of detached interest, the ferocity of its stare now gone. Slowly, Harry inched forward, arm outstretched. Hovering his hand over the Hippogriff's back, Buckbeak continued to regard him with mild curiosity. Breathing deeply, Harry set his hand down on the creature's back and gave a quick stroke before he could lose his nerve.

Buckbeak cooed. Turning his head, the Hippogriff moved so Harry could scratch at his neck. Smiling with shaky relief, Harry continued to pet Buckbeak as the entire class broke out in quiet cheers behind him.

"Oh, very well done Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Oh, lookit, he likes you! I reckon he'd let you ride him now!"

Once more, Harry's stomach clenched in sudden terror. Ride him, had Hagrid said?

Harry's face must have shown his reservation, because Hagrid was quick to reassure him. "Just like riding a broomstick," he said brightly, walking up toward Harry and Buckbeak.

Harry very much doubted that riding a Hippogriff was anything like riding a broomstick. Before he could protest, Hagrid had his large hands tucked under Harry's armpits.

"I'll help you up!" Hagrid informed Harry cheerfully, and in the next moment, Harry was lifted and quickly deposited atop the Hippogriff's back.

Mouth agape, Harry looked over at the group of students who stood watching him silently. Finding Hermione and Ron in the crowd, they met his eyes with matching looks of horror.

"Hang on then, Harry!" Hagrid instructed. Gingerly, so as not to upset Buckbeak, Harry leaned forward and hesitantly wrapped his arms around the Hippogriff's neck. The creature gave a squawk that had Harry wincing.

"Right then! Once round the paddock, I should think, Bucky!" And with that, Hagrid gave the Hippogriff a smack on the rump. With a loud screech of indignation, Buckbeak unfurled his wings on either side of Harry. Kicking off from the ground, the creature shot up into the air. Legs scrambling for purchase, Harry gripped a handful of feathers in either hand, his fear of falling from such a height overcoming his fear of offending the Hippogriff.

Heart racing in terror, Harry forced himself to look up from Buckbeak's back. The world flew by in a blur of color and shapes beside him. The flight was fast, bumpy, and absolutely nothing like riding a broomstick, but Harry found himself feeling the same exhilaration and rush of adrenaline he felt each time he flew. Still gripping the Hippogriff for dear life, Harry gave a single "Whoop!" of exhilaration.

Turning back toward the group of students, Buckbeak suddenly descended in a sharp dive that had Harry once more scrambling to stay astride the Hippogriff. The duo landed on the ground with a thump. Harry was greeted to the sound of cheers and applause from his classmates. Giving his friends a wry grin, Harry forced his legs to unclench as he clumsily slid from the Hippogriff's back.

Harry gave Buckbeak a single pat on his back. The Hippogriff squawked at him in a rather fond manner.

"Great job, Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed, clasping Harry almost painfully on the shoulder. "Well done! Couldn't have done a better job me-self! Let's all give him another round of applause then!"

Harry smiled ruefully as his classmates cheered wildly for him. Even some of the Slytherins were clapping softly, Harry noted with wonder. The happy moment was short lived, however. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy shoved a group of students aside as he pushed his way out of the crowd.

Striding forward, Malfoy sneered at Hagrid and Harry. "Don't look so smug, Potter," he spat, sniffing in disdain. "It's not like you did anything that impressive, after all. Like it's so hard to pet a bloody Hippogriff!"

Harry glared at the other boy, fists clenched in restrained anger. Beside him, Hagrid held up a hand and uttered a hasty warning.

"No, Malfoy- don't come near 'im-"

Malfoy ignored Hagrid and continued to stride confidently toward the Hippogriff. Buckbeak's feathers bristled and he let out a high-pitched, keening noise that had Harry's hair standing on end.

Now a foot away from the Hippogriff, Malfoy looked him directly in the eyes and sneered, hands on his hips. "Ah, you're not dangerous at all, are you, you great ugly brute-"

Malfoy's proclamation was cut short as Buckbeak suddenly reared backward and brought his front claws down across Malfoy's torso. With a loud cry, the blonde boy fell ungraciously to the ground, clutching his left shoulder in exaggerated pain.

"He's killed me! He's cut my arm off! That damn bird's cut my arm off!" he cried loudly, rolling about on the ground.

Harry could see some blood trickling through the boy's fingers, but he'd hardly call the arm _cut off,_ per say. Hagrid had turned a sickly shade of puce.

"Out of the way," the man roared, hurdling over to where Malfoy lay pathetically on the ground. "Back, Buckbeak!"

The Hippogriff squawked once, but took a step away.

Scooping the still howling Malfoy up in his arms, Hagrid turned hastily toward the remaining students, who were watching the events unfold in muted horror.

"Class dismissed," he said quickly, then turned and jogged away toward the castle, Malfoy yowling loudly with every jostling step.

Absolute silence followed Hagrid's departure, until it was broken by the sounds of crunching bones- Buckbeak was eating again. Hastily, most of the students turned and all but sprinted out of the Hippogriff's pen.

Harry gave Buckbeak another quick pat on the neck and then made his way back over to Ron and Hermione, who stood motionless next to the gate.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed, voice slightly unsteady. Next to him, Hermione gave a tiny nod of agreement, her face pale.

Following his friends from the pen, Harry latched the gate behind him, giving Buckbeak a final wave farewell.

"I dunno," Harry smiled fondly at the Hippogriff. "I'd say it was a pretty successful first lesson overall, wouldn't you?"

 

* * *

 

"Once more, Mr. Potter, if you feel up to the task."

Straightening himself with a quiet sigh, Harry nodded at the Potions professor. Raising his wand once more, he planted his feet firmly on the ground and stared at the Boggart's box, waiting for the creature to emerge.

He'd had several lessons with Snape since his stay in the hospital wing last week. While the lessons still weren't what Harry would call enjoyable, they had been surprisingly tolerable as of late. While Snape was still his usual gloom and doom self, he had been uncharacteristically civil toward Harry since their strange conversation the other week after Potion's class. He was still quick to point out Harry's faults and shortcomings against the Boggart, but he hadn't been nearly as nasty or unfair in his treatment and expectations toward Harry. Instead, the professor was strangely stoic and emotionless. It was all rather disconcerting, but Harry wasn't about to complain. At least he didn't feel as though he was about to keel over any second, like he had during their earlier lessons.

Harry felt pretty good all around, actually. His only real complaint recently was the recurring nightmares he'd been having. Lately, his dreams were filled with visions of Voldemort and his mother's death. Clearly, facing the Boggart-turned-dementor so frequently was having a strange effect on his dreams. Harry quite regularly woke up drenched in a cold sweat at night, throat sore from choking back screams. In fact, he had taken to casting silencing spells around his bed at night when he went to sleep, ever since one memorable instance when he'd woken up to Neville shaking his shoulders to rouse him from a particularly horrible nightmare. Harry didn't want to disturb his roommates' sleep, and more so, didn't want their pity or inquires. He could handle this by himself.

Bringing his attention back to the box in front of him, Harry closed his eyes for a moment to fixate on his happy memory- the same one with Hagrid and his Hogwarts letter. Opening his eyes, he nodded once at the professor to confirm he was ready.

"Alohomora."

A dementor emerged from the box with a low moan, robes rustling as they dragged across the dungeon floor. Ignoring his pounding heart, Harry planted his feet more firmly and tried to focus on his memory.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

A silver light burst forth from Harry's wand. Fluid and silvery, the fog hovered between Harry the the dementor, pulsing steadily. Harry held the spell for a moment longer before lowering his wand with a heavy exhale. Wordlessly, Snape cast his own Patronus to drive the Boggart back in its box.

Panting slightly, Harry took a moment to catch his breath. Biting his lip, he frowned and rubbed his eyes. He could now fairly regularly produce an incorporeal Patronus, but he had yet to cast an even slightly corporal form.

Noticing Harry's dismay, Snape crossed his arms and frowned slightly.

"Perhaps, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled slowly. "You need a happier memory still. Is there another singularly happy memory you can place? Something from your childhood, perhaps? Oftentimes, the older and more nostalgic a memory, the better it works to deter dementors and bolster one's Patronus."

Harry stared at the man incredulously, eyes unblinking.

Snape raised a single eyebrow. "Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?"

Harry flushed and shook his head. "No, Professor. I- I just don't really have many, uh, happy childhood memories, is all."

Snape studied Harry intently but didn't comment.

Harry could feel himself turning even redder with that statement. _Stupid,_ he scolded himself.

"Let me try one more time, Professor," Harry said hurriedly, trying to take Snape's attention away from his own careless admission. "I think I've got another memory to try."

Still staring at Harry with a steadfast gaze, Snape wordlessly raised his wand and pointed it at the Boggart's box.

Taking a calming breath, Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus on a new memory. Snape had continually reminded him that the memory needed to be _exceptionally_ happy. Harry remembered being scolded for trying to focus on a memory of him and his friends during his first attempt at defeating the Boggart. But truly, his memories with Ron and Hermione _were_ his happiest memories. It's not as though his childhood with the Dursleys had been full of sunshine and rainbows... until he'd come to Hogwarts, he hadn't really known true happiness.

Maybe he could use his friends as his memory, so long as he picked something _exceptionally_ happy. Harry furrowed his brow in concentration... when he'd first met Ron on the Hogwarts Express. When the young boy had actually _wanted_ to sit in his compartment, and offered Harry his unwavering friendship... the moment when Harry had made his very first friend.

Harry opened his eyes and nodded at Snape.

With a wave of the professor's wand, the Boggart was released from its box. Once again, it glided ominously toward Harry, reaching out its bony hands out toward his face.

Harry raised his wand with a steady hand. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ he shouted, focusing on his happy memory.

Silver smoke burst forth from his wand. Slowly, the fog compressed itself into a blurry shape, still not completely corporal, its outlines blurred and irregular. Harry exhaled and squinted, focusing even more intently, pouring a bit more energy and effort into the spell.

And all at once, the screaming began. Harry's face paled as his mother's shrill screams of terror echoed in his head. He could see his vision starting to tunnel in...

Feeling rather dizzy, Harry took a shaky breath and broke the connection between his wand and the spell. Taking a step backwards, he tilted slightly to the side, managing to catch himself on a nearby table before he fell over.

Quickly, Snape cast his own Patronus and drove the Boggart off.

"Idiot child," the professor breathed, eyes narrowing at Harry. "Don't overexert yourself- sit now, before you collapse."

With a wave of his wand, the professor conjured a wooden chair and gestured for Harry to have a seat. Still feeling a bit unsettled, Harry gladly sunk into the offered chair. Gripping his knees with shaking hands, he fought to steady his breathing.

Hovering close by, Snape watched Harry with guarded eyes. "A marked improvement, Mr. Potter," the professor addressed him with an even voice.

Blinking up at his professor, Harry felt rather stunned. Coming from Snape, that was high praise. "Um, thanks, sir," he replied, somewhat awkwardly.

Snape gave a single nod. "With that said, we cannot have you overexerting yourself again. You can not pour all your energy into a spell like that. I thought we'd established the dangers of doing so."

Harry frowned at this. "But Professor, I _was_ careful- I didn't put too much into the spell, I swear. It's just, the screaming-"

Harry cut himself off abruptly, clamping his mouth shut.

Snape's black eyes snapped to Harry's face. "The screaming?" he questioned pointedly.

Harry felt his stomach clench. He hadn't meant to say that aloud. "Uh…" Harry's palms were suddenly sweaty.

Snape leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "You will explain, Mr. Potter."

Harry really didn't want to explain anything about this, let alone to _Snape_ of all people, but it didn't seem like his professor was giving him much choice in the matter.

"Well," Harry started, swallowing against a sudden lump in his throat. "I, uh- that's what I hear when dementors get too close. Screaming. A woman screaming."

"...A woman screaming?" Snape repeated slowly.

"Yeah," Harry continued with a deep breath. "Screaming. My- my mother screaming."

Snape's face had gone deathly pale. "Your mother screaming," he repeated once more, eyes fixated on Harry with something akin to horror.

Harry blinked harshly. "Y- yeah," he affirmed, looking down at his lap. "The night she died. And sometimes I hear Voldemort too. His laughing, I mean. Not screaming." Harry saw the professor flinch out of the corner of his eye. He continued, unable to stop his confession now that he'd started.

"I hear what she said- to _him-_ before she was killed. She- she died for me," Harry tried to explain, his voice shaky. "She _begged_ Voldemort to kill her instead of me."

Harry looked up at his professor hesitantly and frowned at what he saw. Snape looked positively shocked, and stood staring openly at Harry, mouth gaping. Harry had never seen the professor look so stunned. With what seemed like great effort, Snape closed his mouth and cleared his throat. His next words were somewhat unsteady.

"To... to clarify, Mr. Potter. You're telling me that when dementors get too close to you... the memory you relive is that of your mother's death?"

Harry gave an abrupt nod. "Yeah. That's why I loose my focus sometimes. And that's why-"

"Why you fainted during our lesson," Snape breathed, finishing Harry's sentence.

Harry frowned, suddenly self-consciousness. "Well, I mean, I didn't _faint,_ exactly-"

"You fainted, Mr. Potter," Snape interrupted pragmatically.

Harry scoffed indignantly at that, but didn't respond. He studied his feet pointedly.

Snape continued to watch him with some degree of unease. Finally, the professor spoke.

"I... I knew your mother, Mr. Potter."

Harry's head shot up at this admission, his mouth falling open in unconcealed shock.

"You knew my mother?" Harry breathed suddenly, hands gripping the fabric of his trousers tightly.

Snape nodded once, his expression heavily guarded.

"Yes. We were even friends at one point in our lives."

Harry continued to stare at the professor, unable to hide his bewilderment. _"Friends?"_ he managed to squeak out after a long moment.

Snape smirked. "Don't look so astonished. Yes, your mother and I were quite good friends for a long while during our Hogwarts years. The point of the matter is, I knew her very well... and I know that she loved you dearly." The professor's voice grew quiet and solemn as he uttered these last words.

Harry's heart raced as he stared at his professor, green eyes wide with astonishment.

Snape averted his gaze with a small grimace. "My point is this, Mr. Potter," he continued in a carefully composed tone. "However brief a time you had with her, Lily loved you. A mother's love is... it's unconditional. I know it can't be easy, reliving her death-"

Snape broke off at this, seemingly lost for words. He continued after a long moment.

"...Reliving her death like this- and hearing these things. But she loved you, and she was willing to die for you. That's something to be celebrated." Snape's voice remained steady, but Harry saw his eyes glowing fiercely with some unnamed emotion.

Harry struggled to keep his own emotions in check. Blinking rapidly, he sniffed once before looking away from the professor.

"Yeah," he replied simply, voice somewhat choked. "Yeah, I know."

Snape gripped the desk behind him so firmly, Harry could see his knuckles turn white. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Finally, Harry broke the silence.

"...That's why I need these lessons, Professor," Harry tried to explain. He attempted to voice the deep desperation he felt. "It's... it's a horrible feeling, sir. I can't quite explain it. But it's not normal, feeling this way, the dementors _making_ me see these things-" Harry's voice cut off and he breathed harshly for a moment, fighting to regain his composure. "That's why I have to learn to fight the dementors. I have to be able to defend myself against- against _this."_

Snape stared fixedly at Harry, his gaze unwavering. The professor's dark eyes glimmered dangerously.

"And I shall help you learn to do so," Snape stated, his voice utterly sincere. "I swear it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Please review, I love reading your thoughts and comments! :) I'll try and update within the week.


	8. Chapter 8

_An unsettling cackle of laughter echoes through the silent night. A door slams, walls shudder, and a pair of raised voices carry throughout the house. Then, the sound of shattering glass, footsteps pounding up stairs, a shouted warning, and then, suddenly-_

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

_A blinding flash of green light, and then-_

_A male figure drops lifelessly to the floor, face frozen in a horribly twisted expression of terror. The man's hazel eyes stare forward, blank and glassy. His wand falls to the floor, slipping through limp, lifeless fingers._

_Nearby, a woman screams shrilly. More laughter, high-pitched and terrible. And then, a figure rounds the corner._

_More monster than man, the figure is tall and unnaturally skeletal, his fingers long and spindling. His face is shrouded with a black, hooded cloak, but slits of glowing, crimson-colored eyes pierce through the darkness. The figure cackles, raises a wand- another scream, a second flash of light, and then, a sudden, blinding pain-_

 

With a choked scream, Harry awakened, bolting up in bed. Shoulders heaving, he clutched his sweat-soaked sheets in his fists, attempting to steady his shaky breathing. Raising a trembling hand to his face, Harry rubbed at his eyes, finding them wet with tears.

Still shaking slightly, Harry pulled the hem of his t-shirt to his face and rubbed furiously. Cautiously, he pulled back the edge of the velvet curtain surrounding his bed and peaked out. The dormitory lay dark and silent, nobody else yet awake. Harry could hear the sounds of quiet breathing and soft snores. With sigh of relief, he let the curtain fall shut and flopped back down against his pillows. His silencing spells had held then. At least he hadn't woke any of his roommates with this nightmare...

Flopping an arm over his face, Harry exhaled shakily as he recalled his dream. He had been having similar nightmares for weeks now- dreams of his mother and father dying, dreams of Voldemort _murdering_ them. Honestly, Harry didn't quite know what parts of these dreams were his actual memories from that night, and what parts his mind was making up. Regardless, the nightmares were absolutely terrifying.

Eyes prickling, Harry rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head in his pillow. He was such a baby, crying over a bad dream. He was only a year old when his parents died, he shouldn't even _remember_ their deaths, let alone be having horribly vivid nightmares about it now, twelve years later. Harry groaned softly into his pillow. He was such a freak…

Swallowing harshly, Harry grabbed his blankets and quickly pulled the covers up over his head. Clenching his eyes shut tightly, he took deep, steadying breaths, trying to clear his mind and relax enough so he could fall back asleep. However, it was well into the early hours of the morning before Harry finally drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

 

* * *

 

Chin cupped in his hands, Harry stared blankly toward the front of the Defense classroom, blinking heavily as he tried to stay awake. Was Lupin's voice always this calming? Harry pondered to himself with a quiet yawn. He was trying to pay attention, really... if he could just rest his aching eyes for a minute or so…

Harry's eyes shot open suddenly as something sharp elbowed him in the ribs. Jolted to sudden awareness, his head shot up from the desk where it had been laying. Arms jerking outward in a startled reflex, Harry very nearly knocked his inkwell from the table.

Glancing about the classroom in silent panic, Harry noted with immense relief that nobody seemed to have noticed his little catnap. Turning to his left, where the jab had come from, Harry was met with Hermione's disapproving stare.

Frowning heavily at Harry, Hermione gave him a measured look before returning to her own note-taking.

Harry shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Picking up his quill, he returned his attention to Professor Lupin. Though he managed to stay awake for the remainder of class, Harry very much doubted he would retain much information from this lesson. Clearly, running on three hours of sleep didn't leave him functioning at his best.

Finally, the lesson came to an end. Harry nearly sighed aloud in relief. He had a free period next, and then lunch, maybe he'd have enough time to nip away and take a short nap without anyone noticing he'd gone...

"Harry, would you stay behind after class for a minute? I'd like to speak with you regarding your assignment on Hinkypunks."

Harry started slightly as a voice sounded from behind him. Hastily shoving his things in his bookbag, he turned around to meet Lupin's steady gaze.

"Er, sure, Professor," Harry replied. Glancing over at Ron and Hermione, Harry gave his friends a quick wave, signaling it was OK for them to go on ahead.

When the classroom had cleared, Harry turned back to face the professor. Lupin continued to study him with a curious expression. "So, uh, my assignment, Sir?" Harry prompted after moment of awkward silence.

Lupin blinked once and then smiled. "Your last assignment was fine, Harry. Exceeds Expectations, in fact. I just wanted an excuse to talk with you privately."

"Oh," Harry replied rather dumbly. "Uh, ok then."

Lupin simply smiled. "Won't you sit with me? Would you care for anything to drink? Some tea, perhaps?"

"Um, no thanks," Harry replied, following the professor to the front of the classroom. He took a seat in the offered chair across from Lupin's desk. "I'm good right now."

"You don't mind if I have a cuppa, do you? I have a rather shameful tea addiction, I'm afraid," Lupin admitted with a wry grin.

Harry laughed, his tension easing slightly. "No, go ahead."

With a flourish of his wand, the professor conjured a steaming mug of tea. Taking a sip from the cup, he let out a satisfied sigh.

"Hits the spot," Lupin winked, setting the mug down on his desk. "Now, Harry. I just wanted to take a minute to check in and see how you're doing. Take no offense at this, but you look absolutely exhausted. Are you feeling alright?"

Harry flushed, wondering if the professor had noticed his little nap after all. "No, I'm OK, Professor," Harry insisted hastily. "Just a little tired."

Lupin stared at Harry, amber eyes unblinking. "You're sure?" he questioned after a long moment. "...I heard you spent some time in the Hospital Wing the other week. You are certain you've fully recuperated from that episode?"

The back of Harry's neck prickled in embarrassment. Was there anyone who hadn't heard about his _episode_? Harry nodded insistantly. "No, really Professor, I'm fine. I just didn't sleep too well last night is all."

Lupin gave Harry another calculating look before taking large sip of his tea. "Alright then, Harry. I just wanted to make sure."

Harry gave a small nod, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"And your... lessons?" Lupin continued after a brief moment. "With Professor Snape? They have been going well?"

Harry hesitated only a brief second. "Uh, they're going OK," he shrugged. "I still haven't managed a corporeal Patronus. But I can produce some smoke pretty much every lesson now."

Lupin practically beamed. "That's wonderful progress, Harry! More than most full grown wizards can manage, I'll have you know!"

Harry flushed slightly at this praise but managed a small, shy smile.

"And Professor Snape?" Lupin eyed Harry, suddenly seriously. "He's still... amenable, to these lessons? He hasn't been giving you a hard time?"

Harry stared. "Um, no. It's... it's been fine," he replied after a long moment. "Snape's actually been pretty decent lately, ever since... well, he's been decent."

Mug frozen in his hand, Lupin relaxed slightly at these words. "Good, good then," he murmured to himself. Taking another drink of tea, he leaned back in his chair. "I'm glad to hear things have been going so well," he addressed Harry once more. "Just promise if anything changes, if you have any issues, you'll come talk to me immediately. If you need anything at all, Harry," Lupin insisted rather intently. "My door is always open to you."

Harry nodded. "OK, Professor," he agreed with a small smile, something glowing warm in his stomach from the man's concern. "I promise."

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week passed by quickly without much excitement. Harry had several more nightmares throughout the week, but nothing too terrible, nothing he couldn't handle... and he'd been getting enough sleep, most nights, at least. Still, after a week of interrupted sleep, classes, extra lessons and far too much homework, Harry was more than ready for a lazy Saturday when the weekend finally arrived. Having actually slept well the previous night, Harry had a bit of a lie-in Saturday morning and lay dozing in bed until well past what Hermione considered "humanly decent."

Now, sitting down to a late breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry tucked into a plate of bangers and mash. Shoveling a large forkful in his mouth, Harry directed a cheeky grin toward Hermione as she gave him an expression of disgust.

"You're suppose to chew your food, Harry," Hermione moaned dramatically. "Not _inhale_ it."

Harry shrugged, mouth too full to reply.

Ron looked up from his own heaping plate. " 'S good, Hermione," he insisted, spearing a sausage and shoving it whole into his mouth. "Jus' try it."

Hermione pursed her lips and turned away, taking a delicate bite of toast.

Harry grinned. Taking a swig of pumpkin juice, he swallowed a large mouthful of food. "What should we do today?" he asked his friends.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Well, we do have the Charms essay due Monday," she held up a hand, counting off assignments on her fingers. "And Transfiguration to study for, and I've a fair bit of Ancient Runes work to complete myself, and-"

Ron cut off Hermione with a loud groan. "No homework, that's all we've done _all_ week. Let's do something fun for a change!"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well…"

"Come on, Hermione," Harry smiled persuasively. "We can always do our homework tomorrow..."

Hermione set down her fork with a sigh. "Well, alright, but-"

Harry and Ron cheered aloud, clasping Hermione by the shoulders and shaking her good-naturedly between them. Hermione giggled in spite of herself, giving the boys an exasperated smile.

Ron began to quickly shovel food into his mouth. "Fred and George mentioned they might play some Exploding Snap after breakfast," Ron said with excitement. "Bet they'd let us join in if we hurry."

Clearing his plate in record time, Ron stood up from the table a moment later, wiping his face on his shirt sleeve. "Come on, then!" he gestured to Harry and Hermione, practically tripping over his chair as he tried to hurry from the Great Hall.

Hermione frowned as she stood from her own seat. "I'm terrible at that game," she sighed softly. "And I burned my hair, last time we played…"

Harry smiled at the memory. "Don't worry," he laughed as they followed Ron out of the Great Hall. "I know how to cast _Aguamenti_ now. I'll put you out if you catch fire."

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Harry flopped back into his bed, stretching his limbs with a happy sigh. It had been a wonderful day filled with Exploding Snap, pick-up quidditch games, and a delicious dinner of Shepherd's Pie, Harry's favorite meal. Even Hermione had deemed the day a success, having managed to avoid all explosions during their card game, and having finished much of her own homework while the boys had played quidditch that afternoon.

Harry's own day had involved absolutely no homework, which was just what he'd intended. Calling out a quick "goodnight" to Ron, who was crawling into his own bed, Harry drew his curtains closed and quietly cast his usual silencing spells. Tucking his wand underneath his pillow, Harry closed his eyes, bone-tired from the long day. Rolling onto his side, Harry tucked his chin down against his chest and clutched his blankets tightly. Letting out a soft sigh, Harry relaxed into his bed, allowing himself to drift into a gentle sleep…

 

_Bright green light floods his vision. A heavy thump sounds from next to him, and he turns in time to see his mother's lifeless body hit the floor. Her jaw slack, familiar green eyes stare blankly into his own. A pale, bony hand reaches down to caress her hair, stroking it back from her face in a sickeningly gentle manner._

_The hand tangles in the woman's hair, pulling a fistful of it backwards until her limp head raises slightly from the ground. "Silly, stupid Mudblood," a voice hisses in disgust, letting go of her hair so the woman's face hits the wooden floor with a loud, sickening clunk._

_He tries to hide his own face in the crook of his arm, but before he's able, a long wand points at his head. The heated tip of the wand presses directly into his forehead, and he can hear himself whimper in pain and fright as a voice laughs from somewhere above him._

_A blinding light fills his vision, a screamed spell he can't make out, and then his forehead is burning, he can hear the blood pounding in his ears. And then- sudden silence. The room around him lays black and deathly quiet. His heart pounds in his chest. The room seems to close in around him, walls pressing tightly. And then, a loud banging sounds from the ceiling above him._

_Limbs twitching helplessly, heart racing, forehead still burning, his head turns as the noise grows louder. The small room shakes around him. Suddenly, another blinding light fills the room as a door opens, and then, a different voice, nearly as frightening as the first-_

_"Up! UP, BOY! YOU LAZY, STUPID FREAK!"_

_He flinches as a large hand grabs him by the collar of his shirt. A man hauls him up from off the ground, shaking him roughly by the shoulders as he continues to yell. He looks up into his Uncle's face, and with a gasp of horror, sees the man's eyes- a glowing, unnatural crimson red. He tries to scramble away, but he can't- the man is too strong-_

 

Harry screamed loudly as he awakened. Continuing to shout in absolute terror, he scrambled upright in bed, clasping both hands reflexively to his forehead, pressing at the phantom pain that still burned there. Clamping his mouth physically shut to stop his screaming, Harry curled his body up into a ball, wrapping his arms around his legs. Unable to stop himself, he sobbed openly, pressing his face tightly against his knees.

Harry's sobs caught painfully in his chest as he gasped for air. Abruptly, a wave of nausea overtook him, and for a moment, Harry was certain he'd sick up. Throwing off his covers in a sudden panic, Harry pressed a fist against his lips, swallowing against the bitter taste in his mouth. Panting harshly for a long minute, Harry sat still until the nausea passed.

Harry trembled harshly, the sudden rush of adrenaline leaving his body shaky and weak. His pajamas clung to his skin, soaked in sweat. Disgusted, Harry reached a shaking hand under his pillow and pulled his wand out. Voice cracking, it took him several attempts before he cast a simple cleaning spell, leaving his pajamas crisp and clean.

Letting his hand fall to the bed, Harry exhaled heavily. Suddenly exhausted, he rubbed his sleeve across his face, wiping off the tears and snot.

That'd been the worst nightmare yet, Harry thought to himself with a small shudder. Horribly vivid, and not just _Voldemort_ this time, but some strange, twisted dream that involved his Uncle Vernon too, and his _cupboard_ …

Harry felt suddenly claustrophobic in his curtained bed. In a near panic, he tore the curtains open with a quiet gasp. To his immense relief, the rest of his roommates remained sleeping, curtains shut tightly around their own four-poster beds.

Holding his breath to silence his loud breathing, Harry stood up from his bed, wincing slightly as the floor creaked beneath him. Wand in hand, he drew his bed curtains closed. Silently, he tip-toed from the dormitory, latching the door behind him with a quiet click.

Heart racing, Harry crept downstairs to the Gryffindor common room. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting the room in a dim, eerie red glow. However, the room lay empty and silent.

Harry bit his lip. Even this room felt small and stifling. He had to get out of here, take a walk, clear his mind…

Harry glanced back up the stairs, thinking belatedly that he probably should have grabbed his invisibility cloak if he was going to take a late-night walk after curfew. Swallowing harshly, Harry continued his silent trek through the common room, careful not to make any noise. It was too late to grab his cloak now, Harry mused. He was hardly going to risk waking his roommates a second time... he would just take a short walk, and be careful to avoid the corridors where Filch and the on-duty professors usually patrolled.

Slipping out the portrait hole silently, Harry glanced up at the Fat Lady's portrait. The woman lay snoring loudly in the corner of her frame, fast asleep. With a whispered _Lumos_ , Harry crept down the hall, leading the way with the dim light of his wand.

Clutching his arms around himself, Harry shuddered as he rounded a corner. He probably should have brought a sweater with him. And socks, he mused, glancing down at his bare feet on the stone floor. The castle was chilly at night. However, the shock of the sudden cold seemed to help Harry clear his mind a bit.

Sniffing quietly, Harry continued his trek through the silent halls. That had been some nightmare, Harry thought to himself. He hadn't had a bad dream about the Dursleys in _ages_. Since before he'd even started at Hogwarts. His encounters with the Boggart must be calling up _all_ his bad memories, not only those of his parents' deaths…

Shuddering, Harry made his way around another corner. Engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't notice the furry creature in front of him until he nearly tripped over it. With an angry hiss, Mrs. Norris bared her fangs at Harry, fur standing on end. Yowling loudly in alarm, her yellow eyes tracked Harry with an almost human-like quality.

Harry's heart raced as he stumbled backwards in a panic. Wherever Mrs. Norris was, Filch was guaranteed to follow. He had to get out of here, and quickly.

Taking another step backwards, Harry suddenly bumped into something hard- something _breathing._

Harry flinched violently as a pair of cold, clammy hands clasped his shoulders, spinning him around. Stomach sinking in sudden horror, Harry looked up to meet Filch's face.

"Ah, and what have we here," the man crooned with a vile smile, fingers tightening on Harry's shoulders almost painfully. "A wee student, out of bed... and not just any student…" Filch placed his hand on Harry's chin, forcing the boy's head up into the light of his lantern. " _Harry Potter_."

Reflexes kicking in, Harry jerked his head from Filch's grasp. With a hiss, the man dug his bony fingers into Harry's upper arm.

"I- I-," Harry stuttered in a panic, trying desperately to think of some excuse that'd get him out of this situation.

Attempting to tug his arm from Filch's grasp, the caretaker only clung tighter, grey eyes narrowing. Nearby, Harry heard Mrs. Norris meow menacingly.

"Ah, no you don't, boy," Filch hissed in Harry's face, his breath absolutely foul. "You're not going anywhere except with me. Naughty, rule-breaking boys get _punished_. Perhaps I'll break out the shackles, or maybe even the _whip_ \- you could do with some real punishment to teach you a lesson."

Harry breathed in shakily, eyes widening in real fear. He very much believed Filch's threat. The man's eyes practically gleamed with excitement and anticipation. Filch smiled nastily, pulling Harry closer-

"Argus? Who have you there?"

Another voice sounded distantly from somewhere down the corridor. A beam of light appeared suddenly as the voice cast _Lumos_. Still clinging tightly to Harry's arm, Filch squinted into the bright light as a shadowy figure approached. Suddenly, his eyes widened in recognition.

"Ah, Professor Snape!" Filch breathed. Harry's stomach sank as Snape came into view, the man holding up his lit wand to examine the situation. Grinning from ear to ear, Filch thrust Harry forward with such enthusiasm that Harry nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Look here, Severus," Filch exclaimed with obvious glee. "Look who I've caught out of bed- _Harry Potter_!" Finally releasing Harry's arm, he shoved the boy toward Snape, placing his own hands on his bony hips as he beamed with something akin to pride.

Snape regarded Harry cooly. "Indeed," he murmured after a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.

Harry stood shivering, rubbing his arm where Filch had grasped so tightly. Gulping audibly, he looked Snape directly in the face, eyebrows raised in a silent plea.

The professor continued to stare at Harry, black eyes unblinking and penetrating. "And what were you planning on doing with Mr. Potter, Argus?" Snape asked after a long moment.

Filch smiled nastily. "Was going to take him down to my office for a punishment, I was. The brat has it coming, wouldn't you say, Severus?"

Harry watched Snape's face with hesitant fear. The professor turned his gaze from Filch toward Harry. "Yes, I'd say he does," Snape breathed.

Harry felt his stomach sink. Filch was going to absolutely _wallop_ him.

Cackling in twisted delight, Filch took a step toward Harry. However, before he could reach the boy, a warm hand grasped Harry by his shoulder, and in the next moment, he was pulled tightly against Snape's side.

"Ah, Argus," Snape tutted gently. "I was hoping you would allow me to deal with Mr. Potter. You see, I am quite… _eager_ , to dole out the punishment myself."

Harry flinched at these words. He felt Snape's hand tighten slightly on his shoulder.

Filch's face fell instantly. Arm still outstretched toward Harry, his face began to twitch rather disconcertingly.

"But- I caught the boy!" Filch sputtered indignantly. "I should be the one who gets to punish him!"

"I insist," Snape breathed, his voice low and dangerous.

Filch seemed to realize that argument was futile. Shooting Harry a wicked look, he crouched to the ground and scooped Mrs. Norris into his arms.

"Fine, then," the man spat, squashing his cat to his chest. Mrs. Norris gave a muffled meow. "Enjoy, _Severus_."

Snape nodded once, his face dismissive. Turning, Filch stormed down the hallway, muttering angrily to himself until he disappeared from sight.

Slightly dazed, Harry stood unmoving until Snape's voice and a firm hand on his shoulder jolted him from his stupor.

"Follow me, Mr. Potter."

Harry simply stared. With a small sigh, the professor placed his hand on Harry's back and gave him a gentle nudge forward.

"Come now, Harry."

And with that, Snape turned and walked down the corridor, lit wand lighting the way. Silently, Harry followed his professor, allowing the man to lead him through the darkened halls of Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Harry. As always, please favorite/review, it gives me motivation to write faster! :) Expect an update within a week or so. Thanks so much to everyone who has reviews/kudos/bookmarked this story!


	9. Chapter 9

Hogwarts was scarily quiet at night, Harry thought to himself with a frown. Biting his lip, he glanced around the silent hallway. Without the usual hustle of students rushing through the corridors, the stone walls of the castle were cold and imposing; it was more than a bit unsettling. Ahead of him, the sharp 'click clack' of Snape's boots echoed through the empty hall.

Formless shadows danced across the walls- shapes illuminated from the dim light of Snape's wand. Swallowing thickly, Harry quickened his pace to catch up with the professor, bare feet slapping against the floor. Snape hadn't said a word to Harry, hadn't even acknowledged his presence since they had begun their walk downstairs toward the dungeons. The professor stared fixedly ahead, face stoic, cloak billowing as he strode forward.

Harry shivered against the chill of the dungeon air. Clutching his arms tightly around himself, he stared down at his feet. He wondered what Snape was going to do with him, if he was really bringing him to the dungeons to punish him like he'd told Filch. Surely Snape wasn't going to _whip_ him, like Filch had threatened to. There had to be some sort of rule against professors beating their students… despite this thought, Harry couldn't quite shake his unease.

Staring at the back of Snape's head, Harry contemplated breaking the silence to ask exactly what was going on and where the man was taking him. Opening his mouth, he quickly clamped it shut again, immediately thinking better of the idea. Suppressing another shiver, Harry wiped his strangely sweaty palms against his pajama bottoms.

The duo continued their trek through the twisting corridors of the dungeons. After another few minutes of tense silence, Snape came to a sudden halt in front of Harry. Stomach twisting, Harry recognized the familiar wooden door leading to Snape's office.

Without speaking, Snape waved his wand in a rather complicated pattern and spelled the door open. Face expressionless, he finally turned and looked Harry directly in the eye.

"In, Mr. Potter," Snape gestured curtly toward the open door.

Harry was quick to obey, nearly tripping over himself as he entered the pitch-black room.

Snape followed him inside, and with another few flicks of his wand, spelled the candles lit and the door shut. Harry squinted his eyes against the sudden light. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he shuffled awkwardly away from Snape to stand in a corner of the room, mind racing as he contemplated possible torture scenarios.

"Sit," Snape addressed Harry without looking at him.

Hesitantly, Harry took a seat in a nearby chair. He watched as Snape opened a wooden cabinet near his desk and began to rummage inside.

Probably looking for his flogger, Harry mused, stomach churning with apprehension. Hopefully the punishment wouldn't be _too_ painful. After a long minute, Snape turned back around, a small vial of potion clutched in his hand. Harry stared in open confusion as the man approached him.

"Drink, Mr. Potter," Snape ordered, handing Harry the vial.

Glancing down at the bottle, Harry gulped audibly. A potion? What was Snape playing at? Surely the professor wasn't going to _poison_ him? Harry hesitated, clenching the vial tightly in his fist.

Clearly sensing his apprehension, Snape scoffed and crossed his arms. "It's _Pepper-up_ potion, Potter. Look for yourself. Surely you recognize the draught, as it is one we've brewed countless times in class. And clearly, you're in desperate need of it! You're shaking like a leaf, for Merlin's sake."

Frowning, Harry examined the bottle in his hand. Sure enough, the potion inside was a familiar, gleaming red. Uncorking the vial, he sniffed tentatively. It smelled like Pepper-up too. Glancing once more at Snape's calculating expression, Harry took a small sip from the vial. Immediately, a welcome heat spread through his body, warming him to the core. Harry felt his tension ease and his mind sharpen as the absolute cold that'd chilled his bones disappeared.

Downing the remainder of the potion, Harry handed the empty vial back to Snape. "Thanks," he murmured, face flushed from the sudden rush of heat.

Snape acknowledged him with a small nod, pocketing the empty vial. Harry watched carefully as the professor conjured another chair and took a seat across from him.

"Now, Mr. Potter," Snape sighed, adjusting his robes as he sat. "Shall we discuss exactly what you were doing roaming the halls after hours?"

Harry stared. He certainly hadn't been expecting a discussion. "Um," he breathed, mind racing. "You… you're not going to punish me then? Sir?"

Harry felt his face burn with embarrassment as Snape studied him intently. "Not in the sense you're thinking, surely," the professor replied steadily after a long moment.

Harry fidgeted in his seat. "But, you told Filch-"

"That was _diversion_ , Mr. Potter," Snape interrupted. "The man would not have relented otherwise. Now, no more avoidance- answer my question. What were you doing out of bed?" His tone left no room for argument.

Harry gave a small nod, blinking rather stupidly. "Er, well- I was... taking a walk."

"A walk," Snape repeated slowly. "In the middle of the night."

Harry faltered upon seeing the skeptical look on Snape's face. "Um, yeah," he replied rather unconvincingly.

"Do you take me for a fool, Potter?"

"N-no, Sir!"

Snape bared his teeth, eyes narrowing dangerously. The man leaned forward in his seat, looming over Harry, looking like some sort of deranged bat. "Then I suggest you tell the truth, Mr. Potter, before I loose my _patience_."

To his dismay, Harry felt his eyes begin to water, the start of tears prickling uncomfortably in the corners of his eyes. "I- I," he stammered, fists clenching as he gripped his pajama bottoms tightly. "I swear, Professor," he breathed after a moment, summoning all his Gryffindor courage to look Snape directly in the face. "I'm not lying. I really was just taking a walk."

Snape met Harry's gaze with a heated intensity, his dark eyes practically burning into Harry's own. Harry forced himself to meet the man's eyes, unblinking. After a long moment of tense silence, something in Snape's expression seemed to relax slightly. Abruptly, the professor turned his head away from Harry, breaking their stare.

Harry sank backwards into his seat. Suddenly completely and utterly exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep for a week. Reaching up beneath his glasses, he rubbed at his stinging eyes with a frown.

"There's more to the story than that."

Harry startled at the sound of Snape's voice, nearly upsetting his glasses from his face. Warily, he glanced up at his professor. The man's face was once more composed, though his eyes still gleamed with frightening intensity.

Heart pounding, Harry exhaled shakily. How was he supposed to talk himself out of _this_ situation?

 

* * *

 

Snape studied the boy before him with cautious curiosity. Potter sat hunched in his chair, staring off into the distance somewhere beyond Snape's shoulders. Though the boy was no longer visibly tremoring since his administration of Pepper-up, he still appeared far too pale for Snape's liking.

Snape eased back into his own seat. The boy wasn't lying, per say. Legilimency had easily verified that. Just the briefest, lightest skimming of the boy's subconscious had confirmed truth in Potter's statement. Despite this, Snape could sense further intent- a deeper, hidden truth- behind the boy's words. However, he dared not delve deeper in his mind.

"You will explain, Mr. Potter," Snape addressed the boy before him, taking great effort to keep his voice calm. Potter twitched once, meeting Snape's gaze briefly. Feverish green eyes met Snape's own before the boy quickly looked away, his jaw firmly locked.

Snape rubbed a hand across his face wearily; damned Gryffindors and their pigheadedness. It was entirely too late for this sort of nonsense.

Snape closed his eyes and pushed back against the anger threatening to rise up inside him. He needed to keep a level head. Clearly, something wasn't right with Potter. His entire demeanor was just _wrong_. Shaking, white as a ghost, eyes rimmed in red- this wasn't the appearance of the typical wrongdoing mischief-maker that Snape caught out of bed after hours. No- this was something else entirely.

If the stubborn child would just _tell_ him what was wrong…

Snape sighed and steeled his face as best he could. "Harry," he tried addressing the boy once more.

Immediately, the boy's head shot upright at the sound of his given name, eyes wide with astonishment.

Snape tensed briefly before forcing himself to relax. It wouldn't do to startle the child. "Harry, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong," he continued in as persuasive a voice he could muster.

Potter continued to stare silently at Snape, brow furrowed, green eyes calculating. Snape felt the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably under such intense examination. However, after several long, tense moments, the child began to speak.

"I...I just needed to clear my head for a bit. I swear I wasn't up to anything, Professor." The boy fidgeted in his seat, sounding nearly tearful at this admission.

Snape nodded once in acknowledgement, but did not respond. Potter's eyes flickered upward to meet his own before the child looked away, his expression carefully guarded. The boy studied his hands intently, knuckles turning white as he clenched and unclenched his hands into tight fists.

"I really was just taking a walk. I couldn't sleep," the boy mumbled. "Bad dreams…" his voice trailed off as he gave a noncommittal shrug.

Snape frowned, forehead creasing as he connected the clues. "You have been having nightmares," he stated after a moment of contemplation. That would certainly explain Potter's bedraggled appearance and frightened demeanor.

The boy tensed. "Well…"

"How long have you been having these nightmares?"

"I, uh- well, I wouldn't call them nightmares, really. I mean, they're not _that_ bad of dreams."

Snape shook his head curtly. "If they 'weren't that bad', we would not be having this discussion at three in the morning."

Potter bit his lip. "I guess not."

"Then I'll ask my previous question again, Mr. Potter. For how long have you been having nightmares?"

Green eyes met his own once more. After a moment, something seemed to shift in the child's expression, and his shoulders relaxed minutely. "Since we started our lessons, I suppose. I mean, it's not like I have them every night or anything. It's just- the dementors-" the boy's voice cut off at this, seemingly unable to offer further explanation.

In a sudden rush of clarity, Snape recalled their previous conversation. The child had admitted what he heard, what he relived, whenever dementors were near. The memory of the night his mother- the night Lily- had perished. These nightmares-

"You've been having dreams of your mother's death," Snape breathed in sudden realization before he could think better of the accusation. Across from him, Potter visibly flinched at his words.

"I- well, sometimes, yeah," the child admitted hesitantly. "I mean- every time I face the Boggart, every time we have these lessons- I see and hear, well, _things_. Is it really that surprising I dream about them too?" he questioned, voice growing somewhat defensive.

Snape calculated carefully before he spoke his next words. "Hardly surprising. In fact, I would be more surprised to hear you had not been having nightmares, in retrospect. What does surprise me, Mr. Potter, is the fact that you chose to suffer in silence. Why didn't you tell somebody, you foolish boy?"

Potter frowned, forehead creasing. "Well- they're not really all that terrible, like I said. Tonight was just, uh, a bit worse than normal. I'm really sorry, Professor- I won't go out after hours again, I swear! You can just give me detention and I'll leave." The boy fidgeted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken.

Snape shook his head. "Look at me," he prompted Potter, needing the stubborn child to _understand_. Reluctantly, Potter raised his head, meeting Snape's gaze.

"Do not try and downplay the seriousness of this situation. Believe it or not, I do care about your welfare. If you are injured, or ill, or- Merlin forbid, having traumatic nightmares about your parents' deaths- I fully expect you to find an adult and _tell them_. We hardly need a repeat performance of your collapse two weeks ago because you're too proud to admit when you need help!"

Potter had begun to shake his head halfway through Snape's declaration. "But- Professor, it doesn't make any sense! I don't even understand why I'm having these dreams to begin with! I've never had any memories of my parents before the dementors- nothing! I mean, I was a bloody _baby_ when Voldemort killed them! I shouldn't remember them at all, let alone the night they _died!"_

Snape exhaled slowly, struggling to maintain his composure. "The mind is a complex thing, Harry. Regardless of if you remember that night, you were still present, and the resulting memories are still there in your mind. Even if you don't consciously remember them, those memories are among your most hideous and traumatic- the very type which dementors thrive off. The dementors pull these memories to the forefront of your subconscious, forcing you to remember them, even if you normally wouldn't."

To Snape's immense discomfort, Potter seemed very near tears. "But it's not _fair!"_ he exclaimed in a choked voice. "The one memory I have of them-" the boy's voice cracked, and he began to blink rapidly.

The duo sat in silence. Finally, Snape spoke. "No one is forcing you to continue these lessons, Mr. Potter. Perhaps it would be for the best-"

"No," Potter interrupted, voice desperate, shaking his head. "No- please, I- I can't quit now!"

Snape studied the boy for a long moment before giving a curt nod. "It is your decision," he conceded. "However, I reserve the right to terminate our lessons if at anytime I feel they are more detrimental than helpful to your overall well being."

"I- well, yeah, okay-" Potter agreed falteringly.

Turning toward his store cupboard, Snape raised his wand. "Accio Dreamless Sleep."

The sound of glass clinking, and then, a bottle of potion flew from the cupboard into Snape's outstretched hand.

Wordlessly, Snape offered the bottle to Potter. Hand tremoring slightly, the boy took it, his face creased in confusion.

"To aid with sleep," Snape explained. "The potion will prevent dreams, and therefore nightmares, and allow for a deep, dreamless sleep."

Potter clenched the bottle tightly in his fist. "I- thanks, Professor," he murmured after a moment.

"One mouthful before bed, not to be taken more than thrice weekly," Snape instructed, brushing off the gratitude. "It is a highly effective draught, but can be habit-forming if taken in excess."

Potter nodded slowly. "Alright," he agreed, still staring fixedly at the bottle in his hand.

Snape cast a quick Tempus and swore under his breath at the displayed time. "Come, Mr. Potter," Snape stood from his chair, straightening his robes. "It is far later than humanly decent. I will escort you back to Gryffindor House."

Silently, the boy rose from his own seat, pocketing the potion.

"Ah," Snape said, remembering. "And you will report for detention, this Tuesday and Thursday, as punishment for being out of bed after hours."

To Potter's credit, he didn't argue- just nodded in agreement, oddly docile.

Snape sighed, suddenly weary. "Come then, Mr. Potter," he addressed the child, spelling his office door open. "Let us depart. Perhaps we can both still manage a few hours sleep before morning."

 

* * *

 

Tiptoeing up the staircase to his dormitory, Harry suppressed a groan when he saw the light of the rising sun already shining through the window. Thank Merlin today was Sunday and he didn't have any classes- he was absolutely knackered.

Easing open his dormitory door, Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his roommates' bed curtains all remained closed. Hopefully, nobody had noticed his absence. Latching the door, Harry hurried over to his bed, pulling the curtains hastily shut behind him. He cast his usual silencing charms before flopping down over his bedcovers.

Tossing his wand aside, Harry rubbed his face tiredly. He was definitely sleeping in today. Hermione would doubtlessly chide him for it, and he'd certainly regret it later when he had to catch up on schoolwork, but he was just too exhausted to consider otherwise.

Suddenly chilled, Harry shivered and quickly burrowed under his blankets. Reaching a hand in his pajama pocket, he pulled out the bottle of potion Snape had given him, fingering the label carefully. Dreamless Sleep certainly sounded like something he could use right about now.

Harry opened the bottle, took a mouthful of potion and swallowed before he could think better of the idea. Corking the bottle, Harry shoved it and his wand underneath his pillow against his headboard.

Curling up into a ball under the covers, Harry let out a deep sigh. Almost immediately, he could feel his body and mind relaxing and his tension easing. His eyelids grew heavy and consciousness began to fade rapidly as the potion took effect and he neared sleep.

Really, Snape wasn't all bad, Harry thought to himself with a small smile. And with that, he drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the delay in updating this fic. This chapter was really difficult for me to write, for whatever reason. Not a lot of action, just a lot of intense conversation. However, this chapter really represents what I feel is the start to the turning point in Snape and Harry's relationship. Thank you so much for your continued support! I so appreciate all your kudos and comments!


	10. Chapter 10

Harry woke the next morning feeling astonishingly well rested. He glanced at his wristwatch, noting that despite being just past ten, and having been out over half the night, he felt as though he'd gotten a full night's worth of uninterrupted sleep.

Rubbing his eyes, Harry gave a small grin. That potion sure was something. He'd have to remember to thank Snape again, next time he saw the man. Humiliating as it was having someone know about his nightmares, the relief of getting good sleep was almost worth the embarrassment.

His friends noted his change in demeanor as well. When Hermione commented on his unusually high energy level that day, Harry simply shrugged and replied that he'd slept well the previous night. Hermione, astute as ever, had smiled knowingly.

"I'm glad, Harry," she commented lightly. "You've been so tired these past few weeks. It's good to hear you're sleeping better."

Harry flushed, quickly busying himself with the Charms essay he'd been working on. "Yeah," he replied quietly, so only Hermione could hear. "I'm glad too."

 

* * *

 

The next few days passed quickly. Harry had taken the Dreamless Sleep twice more since that first night, and had felt just as energized and rested when he'd woke the following mornings. He felt like a changed person- more human and less zombie than he'd been in weeks. During Quidditch practice, he'd flown laps around his teammates, catching the snitch an impressive five times before they'd finished the scrimmage match they were playing.

"Brilliant, Harry!" Oliver Wood had clasped him by both shoulders when he'd landed after practice, shaking him with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Absolutely brilliant! You play like that next week against Hufflepuff, and they don't stand a bloody chance!"

His schoolwork had taken a turn for the better as well. Alert and motivated for a change, he'd done brilliantly on his Transfiguration exam, much to Hermione's delight and Ron's astonishment.

"Very well done, Mr. Potter," McGonagall commented upon handing back his exam. Harry's jaw dropped when he saw his mark. Exceeds Expectations was a score he rarely received in any class aside from Defense.

"Keep up the good work," McGonagall said with a nod of encouragement, and he felt himself beam from ear to ear.

Harry was on top of the world. Even his detention with Snape hadn't been enough to dampen his spirits. He'd spent the first evening preparing potions ingredients with the professor in comfortable silence. It honestly hadn't been too terrible, Harry had to admit. There was something quite soothing and mindless about chopping and dicing ingredients- much more tolerable than scouring cauldrons, a task Snape was partial to assigning during detention.

The real punishment of it all was that Snape had decided to postpone his Patronus lessons for the week, with the detentions taking place in lieu of lessons. Harry had argued when Snape informed him of this, but he'd quickly conceded upon seeing the displeasure etched in every line of the man's face.

He'd been informed in short that it wasn't a topic up for discussion. Snape had made several arguments, including what seemed to be his new favorite- that Harry hardly needed to be "overworked" until he "collapsed again from sheer exhaustion".

It was rather frustrating, but Harry supposed Snape made a fair point, and he'd kept all further commentary to himself.

 

* * *

 

That Thursday morning, McGonagall sought him out at breakfast.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry looked up from his plate, swallowing a large mouthful of scrambled eggs and sausage with an audible gulp. "Er- yeah, Professor?" he questioned, trying to be surreptitious as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

McGonagall's brow furrowed. "No need to interrupt your feast on my account, Potter. I merely wished to inform you that I will be overseeing your detention this evening."

Harry frowned. "But, I was supposed to have detention with Snape again tonight. Why can't he do it?"

Harry winced as Ron elbowed him in the gut. Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at the action, but did not comment.

"The Potions Master is otherwise occupied this evening. With what is none of your concern. You will report to my office at seven sharp to serve your detention. Understood?"

Harry rubbed his ribs, frowning slightly. "Yeah, Professor. Sounds good."

Ron gawked openly at Harry as McGonagall walked away. "Blimey, mate. You were really going to argue about _Snape_ not being the one to give you detention? McGonagall is _loads_ better than that slimy git!"

Harry found himself stiffening at the comment. Trying very hard to remain casual, he shrugged. "I dunno. Last detention wasn't that bad."

Hermione interrupted before an argument could progress. "I suppose it's for the best, Harry. After all, didn't you have something you needed to ask Professor McGonagall anyway?"

Harry blinked, and then nodded slowly. "Oh yeah- the Hogsmeade form. Thanks, Hermione, I'd forgotten. I'll ask her about it tonight."

Hermione smiled and took a sip of her juice. Previous concerns forgotten, Ron thumped Harry on the back good naturedly. "That's right! First Hogsmeade weekend is this weekend, Harry! You can't miss out- Fred and George told me all about it! You know, there's this massive candy store, and this pub where you can buy Butterbeer, and Fred and George swear one of the barkeeps sold them _Firewhiskey!"_

Harry smiled and nodded at Ron, but inside, his gut clenched horribly. Uncle Vernon had refused to sign his permission form that summer. Hermione and Ron had suggested he ask McGonagall to sign instead, and though Harry had agreed to ask the professor, he had his doubts on whether she'd be amenable or not.

Pushing his worries aside, Harry joined in Hermione and Ron's discussion, which had turned into a heated debate on whether or not Ron's brothers had been lying about the Firewhiskey.

 

* * *

 

Detention with McGonagall was unremarkable. The professor wasn't very creative when it came to punishment, which admittedly, wasn't such a horrible thing. It just made for a very boring evening writing lines.

When the detention had finished, McGonagall dismissed him with a wave of her hand, distracted by some papers on her desk. Harry packed up, shaking his cramping hand- two hours was a long time to write lines without a break.

Lingering in the doorway, Harry wondered how to broach the topic of Hogsmeade. McGonagall looked up from her work after a minute, frowning when she saw Harry. "You're still here, Potter? You had best start heading back to Gryffindor House, curfew is in twenty minutes."

Harry nodded, biting his lip.

Mcgonagall sighed, set down her quill and gave Harry a very pointed look. "Unless there was something else you wished to discuss?"

"Er- well," Harry said, rummaging in his bookbag. "I just wanted to ask- if you'd sign my Hogsmeade form, Professor." Harry pulled the slip of paper from his bag, handing it hesitantly toward McGonagall.

The Professor frowned deeply and Harry felt his stomach sink at the sight. That wasn't a promising sign.

"I cannot, Mr. Potter. The permission slip specifies it needs a parent- or guardian's- signature. Your relatives…"

Harry gripped the paper tightly and shook his head. "They refused to sign it, Professor. I thought- you're my Head of House. If you gave your permission-"

But McGonagall had already begun to shake her head. "I'm sorry, Potter, but unless your relatives sign that form, I cannot grant you permission to travel to Hogsmeade. No exceptions." Her voice was regretful, but Harry found himself bristling in anger.

"But- Professor, please! It's not fair, I-"

McGonagall held up a hand, effectively silencing him. "Arguing will not change my decision. And truthfully, it is not my decision to make. It is a school-wide rule, and one which cannot be bent. Now, you had best be on your way."

Silently fuming, Harry shoved the unsigned permission slip back in his bag and stormed from the office. Stalking angrily through the halls toward Gryffindor House, Harry cursed both McGonagall and his relatives under his breath.

Just his luck that he'd gone and blown up Aunt Marge before he'd convinced Uncle Vernon to sign that stupid permission slip. And now, all his friends would get to go and visit Hogsmeade this weekend without him, all because Uncle Vernon was a stupid jerk.

Harry paused outside the portrait hole to the common room, taking a few deep breaths as he tried to calm his outrage.

"Well, you're in quite the state," the Fat Lady informed him unhelpfully. "You know what they say, young man- you lose your temper, you lose yourself!"

"Balderdash," Harry muttered, ignoring her comment. The Fat Lady humphed indignantly, but swung open, allowing Harry passage into the common room.

He was immediately greeted by Ron and Hermione, who were seated in some armchairs near the fireplace working on homework.

"Hey, Harry!" Ron greeted him from across the room. "Wanna help me with my Transfiguration essay? How was detention?"

Rubbing a hand across his face, Harry threw his bookbag down on the nearest table and sunk on the floor between his friends. "Horrible," he said shortly, picking at a loose thread in the carpet.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a knowing look.

"McGonagall refused to sign your permission form, then?" Hermione asked gently after a moment.

Harry gave a jerky nod, not really wanting to discuss the matter further.

"Tough luck, mate," Ron sighed. "Really, that's rotten of her. I promise we'll get you some sweets from Honeydukes, okay? Maybe we can figure out how to bring you back some Butterbeer too, yeah?"

Harry shrugged, hunching his chin down against his knees. "Yeah, alright," he agreed halfheartedly.

After a few minutes more of relentless sympathy from his friends, Harry's head began to pound.

"I'm going to bed," he informed them shortly, rising from his spot on the floor and heading upstairs.

"Er- yeah, alright. Night, Harry," he heard Ron's voice sound from behind him.

Feeling very sorry for himself, Harry changed into pajamas and burrowed beneath his bedcovers. Rolling over, he reached under his pillow and felt for the bottle of Dreamless Sleep he'd stored there.

Frowning, Harry tightened his hand around the bottle. No more than three times a week, Snape had said. Harry had taken in three times already since Snape had given him the bottle that past weekend. Technically, taking it tonight would put him over the weekly limit. But really, what would one more night hurt? Besides, it had been nearly a full week already.

Shrugging, Harry opened the bottle and took a large swig of potion. The now familiar heavy-lidded, drowsy feeling hit him instantly, leaving him blinking stupidly as he struggled to cork the bottle before sleep hit him.

 

* * *

 

Though still upset about the whole Hogsmeade situation, Harry was in better spirits by the next morning. Things always looked better after a good night's sleep.

He'd managed to completely forget his troubles by that afternoon. Joking with Ron and Neville as they made their way to Divination, Harry startled when he heard a voice hiss at him from an empty hallway.

_"Harry!"_

Whipping his head around, Harry frowned, wondering if he'd imagined the voice calling his name. A moment later, he narrowly managed to avoid shouting aloud when two familiar red-headed faces poked out from behind a tapestry.

Turning around, Harry noted that Ron and Neville hadn't noticed the disturbance. "Uh, you two go ahead to class. I just remembered- I forgot something in Charms."

"Want us to wait for you, Harry?" Neville asked with a polite smile.

"No- no, that's fine. I won't be long, you guys go on ahead."

Ever agreeable, Neville smiled brightly and turned to depart toward class, dragging a reluctant Ron along with him.

Harry smiled, waiting until they'd rounded the corner, and then turned back toward the source of the voice.

"They're gone," he informed the tapestry matter of factly. "You two can come out now."

Harry shook his head, smiling as Fred and George Weasley climbed out from behind the wall hanging, dual grins plastered on their faces.

"Hiya, Harry," said Fred, straightening his robes.

"Wotcher!" George added cheerfully.

Harry couldn't help but smile in return. "What in Merlin's name are you two up to?" he asked, shaking his head in amusement.

"Ah-"

"That, Harry boy-"

"Is a fair question indeed-"

"And one which involves _you."_

Fred and George stared at him, seemingly expecting a response.

"Um," said Harry dumbly. "Me?"

"You see, Harry, we've heard of your- how shall we say- _Hogsmeade troubles."_

"And lucky for you, we have a solution!"

Harry looked back and forth between the twins, trying to keep up with their rapid-fire conversation. "A solution? What do you mean?"

The twins grinned broadly at Harry, eyes glimmering with mischief. Fred was first to speak. "Ah, Harry. I'm so glad you asked."

 

* * *

 

That night, Harry lay in bed, examining the Marauder's Map that Fred and George had gifted to him.

It was certainly a neat bit of magic, Harry thought to himself, watching as the dot labeled 'Minerva McGonagall' paced back and forth in her office. Smiling, he traced the loopy letters at the top of the map- Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs…

They were certainly strange nicknames. But it'd been smart of them, Harry supposed, to not use their real names on the map lest it was confiscated.

Harry continued to examine the map by the light of his wand, stifling a giggle when he noticed two dots- 'Percy Weasley' and 'Penelope Clearwater'- in the Astronomy Tower together. He wondered what they were doing _there._

Stretching his arms above his head, Harry glanced at his watch. Past midnight. He supposed he should go to bed sometime soon.

Setting the map aside, Harry reached under his pillow and pulled out his Dreamless Sleep potion, holding the bottle up to his wand light. The bottle was over half gone already. Snape hadn't given him very much...

Harry frowned. He probably shouldn't take the potion again tonight- that would make five nights in less than a week. But he felt fine- better than fine, really. In fact, Harry couldn't recall feeling as good as he'd felt this past week in _years._ Unless it starting affecting him badly, Harry didn't see why he couldn't keep taking the potion on a nightly basis.

He just had to figure out how to get more- he doubted Snape would hand over another bottle so quickly after the first, especially after he'd specifically instructed Harry to use it sparingly.

Glancing at the map sitting on his chest, Harry sat upright as he was struck with a sudden bolt of inspiration. Tossing the bottle of potion aside, Harry grasped the map closely and examined a small dot labeled 'Poppy Pomfrey' moving about the Hospital Wing.

Of course- Madame Pomfrey! Harry was certain if he told her he'd been having trouble sleeping that she'd give him a potion for it. After all, Snape had told him to ask for help if he needed it, right?

Satisfied with this new plan, Harry wiped the map clean, took a swig of potion and whispered a quiet Nox to kill the light of his wand.

 

* * *

 

That Saturday, when the majority of the school was gone to Hogsmeade, Harry decided to enact his plan.

"Sorry, mate. We'll bring you back something good," Ron promised as Harry saw him and Hermione off at the school gate.

Harry smiled and waved as his friends made their way up the path toward Hogsmeade, not dropping his hand until they were out of sight. Determined to follow through with his plan, Harry turned around and made his way back inside Hogwarts.

Heading toward the Hospital Wing, Harry couldn't help but feel a tiny bit guilty. But really, it wasn't like he was _lying_ to Madame Pomfrey. He was having trouble sleeping. And he really did need more potion- there were only a few mouthfuls left in the bottle Snape had given him...

Pushing away his lingering doubts, Harry took a deep breath before entering the Hospital Wing.

"Er- Madame Pomfrey?"

The woman looked up from where she'd been sorting linens, eyes widening in surprise. "Harry? Whatever's the matter? Are you ill?"

Harry rubbed his arm, suddenly embarrassed. "Uh- no, not exactly. I just…"

Madame Pomfrey seemed to sense the hesitation in his voice. Her eyes softened, and she patted the bed next to where she stood. "Come and sit," she instructed gently.

Harry sunk down on the edge of the bed. Biting his lip, he swung his legs back and forth nervously. "Uh- well, I was wondering…"

Pomfrey gave an encouraging nod.

"Well, I- I've been having trouble sleeping lately," Harry admitted hesitantly. "I was wondering if you had a potion or something that I could take to help."

Madame Pomfrey gave a sympathetic sort of sigh that had Harry flushing with embarrassment. "Oh, my dear boy," she reassured, patting him on the shoulder consolingly. "Of course, there's no need to look so uncomfortable! There's no shame in it!"

Harry relaxed minutely. "Uh- yeah. Thanks, Madame Pomfrey."

The woman gave him an affectionate smile. "Now, let's chat a bit more, and we'll see about getting you sorted away with something to help with sleep."

 

* * *

 

Madame Pomfrey ended up giving him a different potion than Dreamless Sleep. Harry wasn't sure of the name, but the woman had given him a large bottle of the fizzy blue draught. "Take one mouthful every night, directly before bed," the woman had instructed. "It's a very mild potion, intended for long-term use. It helps one's thoughts settle, and is minimally sedating, allowing for sleep to occur as naturally as possible."

Harry had been instructed to return in a week to meet with Madame Pomfrey again and discuss how the potion was working for him. "And please, don't be a stranger, Harry," Madame Pomfrey had added with a smile as Harry departed the Hospital Wing. "Feel free to come and speak with me anytime, about anything at all."

Harry smiled at the memory as he lay in bed that night. He was rather fond of Madame Pomfrey. She tended to fret over him more than he cared for, but there was something nice about having a fuss made about him once in awhile.

Having only several doses left, Harry had decided to save the Dreamless Sleep for when he really needed it and give Pomfrey's potion a try tonight instead. Taking a swallow of the new potion, Harry had to hold back a giggle as the liquid bubbled and tickled his throat all the way down.

Laying down in bed, Harry closed his eyes and drifted into an easy sleep...

 

_Boy. BOY!_

_An angry voice reverberates, shaking the ceiling above his head. He curls in a ball, frightened and upset and alone, always alone._

_You! BOY! Get OUT HERE, you good-for-nothing FREAK!_

_Light shines in his eyes, blinding him momentarily as a door is wrenched open, and then a thick hand is dragging him from the safety of his haven. He cowers, terrified, as the unyielding hand squeezes his upper arm hard enough to bruise._

_A high-pitched laugh sounds, and his hair stands on edge. A figure in black approaches, eyes glowing, but he's held firmly in place, someone breathing heavily in his ear. His arm is burning- his vision tunneling- there's no escape- that familiar green light swells around him-_

 

Harry bolted upright in bed, clamping his hands over his mouth to physically stop his screams. In a blind panic, he fumbled for his wand, hand shaking so badly that he dropped it several times before he was able to whisper a tearful "Lumos."

Wiping his face on his shirtsleeve, Harry allowed himself a shaky moan.

Merlin, that'd been a bad one. He'd fallen asleep easily enough, but clearly Pomfrey's potion had done nothing to calm his actual nightmares. And _this_ sort of dream again- a hybrid nightmare of his childhood and Voldemort that didn't make any sort of sense. It was worse, dealing with the aftermath now, after having had a week nightmare-free thanks to the Dreamless Sleep.

Shuddering, Harry fumbled under his pillow for his potion bottles. Pulling out the Dreamless Sleep, he hurriedly uncorked the vial and took a sip before he could think better of the idea. Forget about conserving the potion- Harry wouldn't be able to sleep tonight without it. And hell if he was going to risk having another nightmare like that. Shrugging, he took a sip of Pomfrey's sleeping potion as well. It would help him fall asleep, at least, even if it didn't keep the nightmares at bay.

Sniffling, Harry tossed and turned fitfully for another minute before the potions took effect and drug him into a deep, relentless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooaaa, two chapters in less than a week, I've shocked even myself! Let's hope the motivation bug that bit me keeps it up ;) Thanks for your lovely comments and continued support! Please leave a comment if you have the time, I so enjoy reading them. Hope everyone has a great week!


	11. Chapter 11

That Monday, Harry drug himself out of bed with sheer willpower alone. Despite sleeping well the rest of the weekend thanks to the aid of his sleeping potions, he felt beyond dreadful today. Groggy and exhausted, his head felt as though it were stuffed full of cotton. And, he'd used up the last of his Dreamless Sleep the previous night, much to his dismay. It definitely wasn't shaping up to be his day.

"You don't look very well, Harry," Hermione noted over breakfast, her voice tinged with worry.

Harry grunted in response. He didn't feel very well, if he was being honest.

" 'M alright," he lied, though he sounded ill even to himself.

"Hermione's right, mate," Ron added, sounding uncharacteristically concerned. "You're all pale and sweaty. You sure you're not sick?"

Harry shrugged, the action making his head pound mercilessly. "Nah, I'll be fine. I think I'm just coming down with a cold. It's really not that bad."

His friends looked doubtful, but Harry gave them a forced smile and began to choke down a piece of toast. Maybe he had the flu or something. He'd go and see Pomfrey after lunch if he still wasn't feeling well. But she tended to overreact, and Harry hardly wanted to spend another three days in the Hospital Wing over a cold. He'd only just caught up on the schoolwork he'd missed during his last stay there. Resolved, Harry put on a face and forced himself to join in conversation, not wanting to worry his friends.

However, his symptoms only worsened over the next hour, and by the time they'd made it to Potions, Harry felt like death warmed over.

Something definitely wasn't right, Harry thought to himself as he staggered into class. He was beyond tired. A bone-deep sort of exhaustion had settled through every bit of his body, like nothing he'd ever experienced before. And everything hurt- Harry's head pounded, his joints ached, even his eyeballs seemed to twinge in pain. Sinking down in his assigned seat, Harry found himself swaying slightly as the Potion's classroom began to spin disconcertingly around him.

Yeah, maybe this was more than just a cold. Harry groaned quietly. There was no avoiding it- he'd have to go and visit the Hospital Wing after class...

Next to him, Ron watched him closely with a frown. "Harry, are you sure you're okay? You look like you're about to pass out or something."

Ron's voice sounded fuzzy and far away to Harry. He glanced over at his friend, noting with detached interest that his face was fading in and out of focus like the rest of the classroom. Harry blinked rapidly and squinted through his haze of exhaustion, struggling to bring Ron's face into focus.

"Ughh…" Harry replied shortly, electing to rest his face against the cool tabletop instead of answering the question.

Ron's eyebrows shot up past his bangs. "Harry…" he breathed, voice heavy with concern. "I think-"

"Class had begun, gentlemen. You with desist with this idle chatter or else- Potter, sit up at _once!"_

Harry looked up with glassy eyes at Professor Snape, but was physically unable to raise his cheek from the tabletop when he went to try. Shutting his eyes, he struggled to turn his head away from Snape's gaze, wincing as an embarrassing whine worked its way inadvertently from his mouth.

"Uh- Professor," Ron sounded near panicked now and he shook Harry's shoulder anxiously. "Something's really wrong with him! I don't think he's well-"

But Snape had already sunk down to one knee and was lifting Harry's closed eyelids with gentle fingers. Harry stared blankly at the man, unable to focus his vision. He briefly tried to pull his face from the professor's grasp, as the man was now feeling his forehead and touching his throat with probing fingers, but he couldn't find the strength.

"Weasley," Snape addressed Ron abruptly, raising his wand and casting a few wordless spells at Harry. "How long has he been like this?"

Ron stared at the professor with wide, incredulous eyes, but seemed to sense the serious note in the man's voice and answered without hesitation. "Since he woke up this morning. But it was nowhere near this bad, he just seemed a little sick earlier. Nothing like _this!"_

Hermione had noticed the disturbance by now and worked her way over to the their table. "Professor," she said, voice wavering. Harry knew he must look as bad as he felt by the way Hermione was staring. "What's wrong with him?"

Harry glanced between the professor and his friends, struggling to keep his eyes open. He opened his mouth and attempted to speak, but found his voice wouldn't work properly. Panting slightly, he managed to frown, wondering if it was his imagination, or was it really getting harder to breathe?

Snape had stood now, eyes narrowed as he took Harry's limp wrist in hand to check his pulse. "Miss Granger," the professor addressed Hermione, though he continued to watch Harry's face intently. "I'll need you to clear the classroom."

Hermione nodded rapidly, her face pale, and hurried away to carry out the professor's order.

Harry's head spun sickeningly. Opening his mouth, he tried to speak again, but all he managed was a slight wheeze. Yeah, it was definitely harder to breathe. Mouth going slack, Harry began to pant heavily against the tabletop as the struggle to draw air grew greater.

Unceremoniously, Snape dropped Harry's wrist. Unable to control his muscles, Harry didn't even flinch as his hand hit the table with a loud 'thwack'. Suddenly, Snape had crouched once more, his face inches away, cold fingers physically turning Harry's face toward his own. "Harry, are you having difficulty breathing?"

Well, duh, Harry thought, wishing desperately that his voice would work properly. Struggling to look Snape in the face, Harry gave another pained wheeze of affirmation as his vision began to tunnel.

Snape's eyes widened, his face pinched with surprisingly open concern. Standing again, the professor raised his wand and chanted a series of rapid spells. Almost instantly, Harry found himself gasping openly as the vise that'd unknowingly constricted his lungs lessened. Chest heaving, Harry desperately drew air into his hungry lungs.

"Weasley!" Snape barked, wand still raised and pointed at Harry. "I need you to fetch Madame Pomfrey immediately! You know where to find my office?"

Ron hovered near the table, staring at Harry in open terror. Seemingly unable to speak, he nodded mutely at Snape.

"Go! I've spelled the wards to allow you entrance. Use the Floo there, it'll be quicker. You go as well, Miss Granger!"

Hermione had returned, classroom now empty, and was gripping Ron's shoulder anxiously. For a moment, Harry was certain she'd argue to stay. However, without hesitation, she grabbed Ron's hand tightly and tugged him away, pulling him into the hall at practically a sprint.

Now alone with Snape, Harry tried to force his body up from the table again, willing his flaccid muscles to cooperate, but all he managed was a pathetic loll of his head.

"Be still, Harry," he heard Snape command him from above. Harry managed to twitch his fingers and forced a small whimper from his mouth, desperately confused and more than a bit frightened. What was _happening_ to him?

Snape seemed to sense his distress, and Harry felt a firm hand rest against his upper back in a seeming show of comfort. "Hush," Snape spoke again. "Try to relax. Focus on your breathing."

Breathing. Harry took a shaky breath, his head spinning. Yeah, breathing. That sounded like a good idea.

The hand on his back gave a small pat of approval as Harry began drawing in deep, wavering breaths. Nerves somewhat calming, Harry felt his eyelids grow heavy as he came down from his adrenaline high. Muscles going completely limp, Harry lay slack against the table, ceasing his struggles to move.

He felt Snape shake his shoulder abruptly. "No, Potter- you must stay awake!"

The professor's voice sounded muffled and distant to Harry. He briefly attempted to open his eyes, but found even his eyelids wouldn't cooperate properly anymore. His head seemed to weigh a ton, his brain was unable to focus- and he was tired- so, so tired…

Somewhere beyond the fog of his mind, Harry felt a wand tip press against his temple and heard Snape's voice uttering a spell. Unable to fight his utter exhaustion any longer, Harry allowed the darkness bordering the outskirts of his mind to pull him into a deep and welcome unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

"Potter! Harry! Damnit-" Snape swore abruptly as the boy's face went slack. Gritting his teeth, Snape grasped his wand and pressed its tip to Harry's forehead. _"Rennervate!"_

Snape felt his stomach sink when Harry failed to waken from the Reviving Spell. Noting that the child was once more struggling to draw breath, Snape forced himself to calm and raised his wand once more. "Anapneo! Vi Spiritus!"

Snape exhaled in overwhelming relief when the boy began to breath more easily, color returning to his face. Hands trembling slightly, Snape tilted Harry's chin up in an attempt to keep his airway open.

Dammit all, where in Merlin's name was Poppy? Snape wasn't a Healer- he could only do so much to stabilize the boy. Uncertain of what more to do, Snape watched the boy's chest intently, making sure it continued to rise and fall with each shuddering breath.

What in Merlin's name was _wrong_ with the child? This was like no illness Snape had ever seen before...

"Severus!"

Snape heard Poppy before he saw her. "Here, quickly!" he instructed, not turning his attention from Harry. He cast another Breath Giving Charm when the child's breathing faltered once more. A moment later, a slightly disheveled Madame Pomfrey appeared by his side.

"Oh, Merlin," he heard Poppy breath in horror when she saw the state the child was in. "Severus, move."

Snape complied, stepping aside to give her room to work. With a grim sort of determination, Poppy raised her wand and began casting spell after spell on Harry in rapid progression.

A few tense minutes passed, silent save for Poppy's desperate spell casting. Snape stood rigid, his mind surprisingly numb as he continued to stare at the child's limp form.

Finally, Poppy paused, cast a final Diagnostic Spell, and then lowered her wand with a heaving sigh. "He's stable, for the moment," she informed Snape, voice rather dire. "Merlin, Severus. I've had to cast a spell to physically compel his lungs to continue to draw air. It's like nothing I've ever seen before."

The woman's voice shook at this admission. Snape frowned, gripping his wand tightly. "It progressed rapidly," he informed Poppy, voice strained. "I'm not sure how much Granger and Weasley told you. He seemed to lose control of his muscles- he was unable to move or speak, and then suddenly, he was struggling to draw breath."

Poppy had conjured a stretcher by this point, and was in the process of levitating Harry's limp body onto it. "It almost sounds like a sort of neurotoxin." Poppy frowned, adjusting the child's limbs into a more comfortable position. "Loss of voluntary muscle control, and then, loss of involuntary muscle control as well- like lungs breathing, and eventually the heart beating," she explained, wringing her hands together helplessly.

Snape frowned, his mind racing. "What could cause something like that? A poison, perhaps?"

Poppy cast another few charms on Harry. "Possibly. Or-" her voice cut off as her brow furrowed, deep in thought. "An allergic reaction, maybe?"

"To what, though?"

Poppy shook her head. "It's just a thought. I prescribed him some Dulce Somnium Potion this past week. But the ingredients are all commonplace- harmless, really. I can't imagine that's the cause behind all this."

Snape felt his face go pale. "Poppy," he breathed suddenly, standing still in a stunned sort of horror as he struggled to gather his thoughts. "I gave him a potion too. Dreamless Sleep. The Valerian Sprigs in that potion-"

"-and the Willow Bark in the Somnium Potion. Oh, Merlin, Severus," Poppy's voice shook as she finished his thought. "Those ingredients should _never_ be taken together."

Snape nodded in mute agreement. "That's it, then," he stated. "Those potions are toxic, in combination."

"Oh- my-" Poppy's voice was choked with emotion. "Oh, Severus- Harry never said! I never imagined he was taking Dreamless Sleep already- or I'd have never-"

"Hush, Poppy," Snape soothed, placing a placating hand on the woman's shoulder. "You're not at fault. How were you to know?"

Poppy continued to sniffle, struggling to maintain her composure. Snape stared at Harry's limp form, clenching and unclenching his fists. That stupid, _reckless,_ foolhardy child.

"Severus," Poppy said, brushing a lock of sweaty hair from Harry's forehead. "You can brew an antidote, can't you?"

Snape stiffened, struggling to keep his own emotions in check. "I believe so," he murmured after a moment of contemplation. "But I hardly have much of a choice, do I? Let us hope for the boy's sake that I am correct in my assumption."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that escalated quickly. Good job to all who guessed that Harry's (foolish) actions would have consequences! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, as I sure enjoyed writing it! I'm wholly unapologetic for the drama and hurt inflicted on Harry in this chapter ;) Sorry that it's a bit shorter than normal, but this felt like a natural breaking point. Thank you for your lovely comments, they make my day and encourage me to continue writing- you guys are all the best!


	12. Chapter 12

"No- no, oh, _blast it all!"_

Severus Snape tossed his stirring rod aside, cursing aloud as he stared at the coagulated potion in his cauldron.

Banishing the useless mess, Snape rubbed a hand across his face wearily, breathing heavily as he struggled to keep his frayed nerves in check. Over two days of minimal sleep, little food and countless failed potions had his temper on a hair-trigger. But time was a limited resource at this point- matters like rest and sustenance seemed almost trivial.

Casting a self-cleaning charm on his cauldron, Snape stood from the bench where he sat, stretching his sore back with a wince. Damn, he had been almost certain the potion would brew properly this time- what with adjusting its boiling point, and using a silver stirring rod to counteract the Herbaria's acidity...

Frowning, Snape walked over to his desk and grabbed his pile of notes, beginning to study them with ferocious intensity.

Nearly two days had passed since Harry Potter had unwittingly poisoned himself. Two days since his near-death experience in Potions class. Two days since Snape had locked himself in his quarters and begun working frantically to brew an antidote that would save the child's life.

After consulting with St Mungo's, Poppy had placed Harry under a strong Stasis Spell in an attempt to keep the toxin from progressing any further. Keeping his body alive was simple work- Nutrition potions could sustain one indefinitely, after all. The real trouble of the matter was counteracting the toxin before it did any permanent damage to Harry's nervous system. A Stasis Spell was a temporary solution- a stopgap to a much larger problem. Every minute without an antidote was another minute they risked the poison doing permanent, irrevocable damage.

Snape's gut clenched as he recalled the effects of the toxin that he'd witnessed firsthand. He remembered Harry struggling for breath, twitching listlessly against the table, unable to move or even speak. The thought that the damage could be permanent-

Hands twitching violently, Snape nearly tore the parchment he held. Hurriedly raising his Occlumency shields, he shut away his feelings of fear and unease and lingering guilt. He couldn't afford to be compromised- not right now. Brewing an antidote required his complete attention and concentration.

Antidotes were a tricky business. Brewing them was a tedious process which required a great deal of patience and experimentation. They were highly individualized to whatever substance they counteracted- trial and error to discover correct ingredients and ratios was necessary when brewing them.

However, time was a luxury which Snape couldn't afford- not with a child's life depending on this antidote. And so, he had worked feverishly for two days and nights, brewing potion after potion in an attempt to discover the correct recipe. He wasn't known as a Potions Master for nothing. Skill and sheer determination had led him to this point- to the cusp of creating a viable antidote. If he could just figure out why the potion kept curdling at this stage in the brewing process-

Mind racing, Snape grabbed a quill from his desk and began scribbling frantically in the margins of the parchment he held. Exhaling, he silently bolstered his Occlumency shields when he noticed his thoughts beginning to wander again. He couldn't allow himself to panic. He had to keep a straight mind- Harry's life depended on it.

 

* * *

 

Harry came to consciousness slowly- a gradual, involuntary sort of awakening. He knew he'd been drifting for some time now, lost in a dark sea of nothingness- but his awareness ended there. It was difficult to gather his thoughts. His mind was fuzzy and disoriented. Everything felt unnaturally heavy- his body strangely limp and numb, as though it didn't belong to him at all.

Sensation returned in stages, beginning with an uncomfortable tingling in his fingers and toes. Feeling gradually worked its way up his limbs and torso until his entire body prickled with unnerving sensitivity.

Suddenly unnaturally aware of his breathing, Harry gasped, taking in deep, shuddering breaths. A distant ringing sounded from somewhere- the tinny, shrill sound growing louder and louder. Steadily, the ringing turned to muffled sounds, and Harry's brain was able to piece the sounds into voices and then words-

"Oh, I think he's waking. Severus-"

Now struggling toward full consciousness, Harry managed to wiggle his fingers, then shift his arms, the movement sending a stinging pain down his limbs. Wincing at the sensation, he cracked his eyes open briefly, immediately slamming them shut against the bright light.

"Oh, praise Merlin!"

Harry managed to squint his eyes open again after a moment. The grey border on the edge of his vision slowly faded, giving way to fuzzy shapes and colors that appeared unnaturally vivid.

"Harry- Harry, can you hear me?"

Harry managed to blink in response, struggling to turn his head to face the voice. A woman's face came into view- pale and pinched with concern, her eyes tearful. Madame Pomfrey- Harry's disoriented mind managed to put a name to the face.

Opening his mouth, he attempted to speak, but his dry mouth stuck together horribly. All he managed was a strained croak, but the noise seemed to spur Pomfrey into action.

"Oh, goodness!" the woman fussed, bustling away from Harry's line of vision. As she hurried away, another figure appeared into view. A familiar man, dressed all in black, with his arms crossed and face strained and dark eyes piercing-

 _Snape,_ Harry's brain supplied after a moment of contemplation.

Tearing his gaze away from the man, Harry lay back, thoughts storming as he attempted to piece together a frame of reference. The room he was in was familiar- stark white walls, bright lights, smelling strongly of washed linens and disinfectant…

Ah. The Hospital Wing. But why was he here? It was becoming easier to think and focus now- the fogginess of his mind gradually clearing- but Harry's memories remained hazy.

Shifting his achy limbs, Harry started as a straw was pressed against his lips.

"Drink, Harry."

Harry eagerly complied, taking long, greedy sips of water. He nearly whined aloud when the glass was pulled away.

"Not too much, just yet. You'll make yourself sick," Pomfrey said gently.

Harry managed to nod in response. "M'kay." Swallowing thickly, he cleared his throat, attempting to speak again. "Wha- happened?" He winced as his voice cracked and grated from disuse.

Pomfrey bit her lip. Setting the glass of water down, she fussed briefly with Harry's sheets. She opened then closed her mouth, looking strangely conflicted.

"Rest now. We can discuss all that later."

Strangely, it was Snape who spoke first. Harry had nearly forgotten the man was there. Shifting his eyes, he looked over at the professor. The man looked uncharacteristically disheveled- his clothes wrinkled and hair even more lank than normal, with dark, heavy circles lining his eyes.

Harry frowned and attempted to sit upright in bed, gasping out loud when the movement sent a flare of sharp, vicious pain through his body.

"No! Harry, lay back down-"

Unable to contain his groan, Harry shuddered as his oversensitive nerves twinged with pain. Voices spoke in hushed whispers above him for a minute, and then, a bottle was pressed to his lips.

"Drink," a voice commanded. Firm hands helped lift his head from his pillow. Above him, Snape's face swam in and out of focus.

Complying without hesitation, Harry swallowed, the potion sticky and sweet going down his throat.

Almost immediately, the pain disappeared. Harry exhaled shakily, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He blinked rapidly, struggling to stay awake as his eyelids drooped, heavy with fatigue now that his discomfort had eased.

He fought against sleep for a moment longer, until a cool hand brushed over his forehead. "Sleep now, Harry."

Snape's voice was the last thing he heard. Unable to stay awake any longer, Harry allowed himself to drift once more, surrendering to his body's complete and total exhaustion.

 

* * *

 

Snape withdrew his hand from Harry's forehead as the boy's breathing evened out, his face going slack with sleep. From behind him, Poppy lay a hand on his shoulder.

"He's sleeping now- a true sleep, this time. I've performed a scan, and I can't detect any lasting damage to his body. Sleep is the best thing for him now."

Snape remained silent, continuing to stare at the boy's pale face.

Poppy's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Oh, Severus. He'll be fine- your antidote worked just as it should. He just needs rest."

Tearing his gaze from Harry, Snape gave the woman a small nod of acknowledgement.

Poppy favored him with a fond smile. "Now, no more fussing. You need your rest as well- you've barely slept these past few days. Why don't you go have a lie down for a few hours?"

It wasn't a suggestion. Snape knew better than to argue with Poppy when she used her mother-hen tone. "A few hours," he agreed reluctantly, rubbing a hand across his face as his exhaustion hit him suddenly. "You'll wake me if any issues arise?"

"Of course, Severus. Now, off with you. You look nearly ready to collapse on my floor."

Poppy lay a gentle hand on his back, guiding him toward the door of the Hospital Wing. And if Snape paused to glance back once more at Harry, just for reassurance, he'd never admit it.

 

* * *

 

Opening his eyes, Harry gazed around the room, slightly disoriented. He felt as though he'd been sleeping for ages. Pushing himself up in bed, Harry winced as his sore muscles protested against the movement. Leaning against the headboard of the bed, he managed to remain upright, at least.

"Oh, Harry, you're awake!"

"Er- yeah," Harry replied, blinking up at Madame Pomfrey, who had suddenly appeared at his bedside. Blinking dazedly, Harry frowned, trying to gather his bearings. He briefly remembered waking earlier- speaking with Pomfrey and… Snape? But before that, his memories were fragmented. He could vaguely recall feeling unwell- had it been in Potions class? Had he fainted or something? Harry's heart began to beat faster in rising panic. Why couldn't he remember anything?

Pomfrey seemed to sense his mounting distress. Tutting, she cast several spells on him in quick succession. "How is your pain at the moment, Mr. Potter? Your nerves were damaged slightly, but it's an easy repair with Regenerating potions, though the healing process can cause some slight to moderate discomfort."

Harry blinked. "Um, yeah. I mean, no. It hurts a little, but I'm alright. Really."

Pomfrey frowned. "There's no need to put on such a stoic act. You're shaky and pale- your discomfort is obvious. I can give you Pain-Relief potion to help. You're overdue for another dose anyhow."

Harry shook his head. He remembered that last potion making him groggy and dragging him into a reluctant sleep. "Really, Madame Pomfrey. I don't want to take anything. What-"

"You will take the potion, Potter. Don't be a fool."

Another voice joined in their conversation. Turning toward the door of the Hospital Wing, Harry's eyes widened- Snape stood in the door-frame, his hands full with various bottles of potions.

"Ah, Professor Snape- just in time. You've brewed the potions, I take it?"

Snape gave a terse nod, walking in the room and setting the bottles down on Harry's bedside table. "Indeed. Fresh batches of both Nerve Regenerator and Muscle Relaxant."

Madame Pomfrey smiled, picking up the bottles and uncorking them. "One sip of each, Harry," she prompted. "You'll be on a strict regimen for the next week or so."

Harry's eyes widened. Why did he need to take those types of potions? Biting his lip, he took the bottles from Pomfrey. Eyeing their contents cautiously, he took a tentative sip from each, shuddering at the bitter taste.

"Good," Pomfrey encouraged him. "And the Pain-Relief potion?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest. Snape gave him a carefully measured look and Harry clamped it shut again, thinking better of the idea. Hesitantly, he took the offered bottle from Pomfrey and took a small sip.

His body slumped against the headboard as his aches and pains receded instantly. Exhaling, he handed the vial back to Pomfrey. "Thanks," he murmured, sinking down in bed as his muscles involuntarily relaxed. At least he managed to stay awake this time, Harry thought to himself.

Mind pleasantly fuzzy, Harry frowned thoughtfully. "What happened?" he asked after a moment. "Why am I in the Hospital Wing? And what are all these potions for- am I sick?"

Above him, Snape and Pomfrey shared a significant look, though neither spoke. Harry frowned, glancing back and forth between the pair. "What? Is it really bad or something? Am I going to be alright?"

To Harry's immense discomfort, Pomfrey's face crumpled, tears overflowing in her eyes. "Oh- Harry," she choked, wringing her hands together fretfully. "I-"

"Poppy," Snape interrupted, his voice soft. "I'll speak with him. Go collect yourself."

Sniffling, Pomfrey nodded in agreement after a moment, hurrying away to her small office in the corner of the Hospital Wing.

Harry watched Snape cautiously as the professor summoned a chair next to his bed. Sitting, the man studied Harry intently before speaking. "What do you recall, Mr. Potter?"

"Uh- not much," Harry admitted, fiddling with a corner of his blanket. "I remember not feeling very well earlier this morning at breakfast. Or in class. But that's it, really. Everything's kinda fuzzy."

Snape paused. "Not this morning," he corrected. "Today is Thursday. You became… ill… on Monday. Over three days have passed since then."

"What?" Harry breathed, absolutely stunned. He'd been sleeping for _three days?_ It didn't feel like any time had passed at all!

"Calm yourself," Snape instructed firmly. "Stress isn't good for your health right now. Though I suppose it is unavoidable, to some degree."

Harry gaped at the professor. "But- three days?" he managed to stutter after a moment.

"Yes. You collapsed in my class," the man informed him, seeming to choose his next words carefully. "You were quite ill, for some time. Madame Pomfrey placed you in a- well, a magically induced coma, I suppose, would be an apt way to describe it."

Harry struggled to process Snape's words. Collapse? _Coma?_ "But, why?" he asked, horribly confused.

Snape stiffened marginally, his face growing tense. "Poisoning," the professor said shortly. "From the sleeping potions you were taking. They reacted badly when taken together, creating a sort of toxicity in your body. That is why you now require the Nerve Regenerator potion," Snape explained. "Though there will be no lasting damage, thankfully."

 _Poison?_ Harry's mind reeled. From his potions? "I don't understand, Professor," Harry admitted hesitantly.

"The _sleeping potions,_ Potter," Snape repeated slowly, as if talking to a toddler. "You remember those, surely?"

"Yeah," Harry said, brow furrowing. "The Dreamless Sleep- and Pomfrey's- _Oh."_ Harry's voice cut off suddenly. Oh, yeah. The second sleeping potion he'd gotten from Pomfrey. The one Snape wasn't suppose to know about.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter," Snape replied, eyes slowly narrowing. "I take it you remember now? Your foolish request for a _second sleeping potion,_ without telling Madame Pomfrey about the one that you were already taking? The one that _I had given you?"_

Snape's voice grew in volume, his dark eyes smoldering. Harry shrank back into his pillow.

"I- well," he stammered, trying desperately to avoid Snape's gaze. "I-"

The professor continued to stare at him, unblinking. Biting his lip, Harry pulled the bed-covers up to his chin, desperately wishing he could disappear at will. "I'm sorry," he whispered after a moment, not sure of what else to do to appease that furious look on Snape's face.

Clearly, an apology wasn't what the man had been waiting for. Snape's eyes narrowed further, if that was even possible. "You stupid, foolish child," he addressed Harry after a moment, voice tight with narrowly concealed rage. "Did you not pause to think about the possible consequences of your actions? Have you learned _nothing?_ Mixing potions without knowing their compatibility is _incredibly dangerous!_ This is a point I've stressed repeatedly since _day one of class!"_

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably at the scolding. Yeah, he did remember Snape saying that in class, more than once. And he had second guessed himself when he'd gotten that second potion from Pomfrey. But he hadn't realized that taking the two potions together would _poison_ him, for Merlin's sake.

"So, that's why I'm sick then?" Harry asked, his gut clenching.

"Yes," Snape replied, sinking backwards in his seat, looking more tired than angry now. "Though sick is a gross understatement. You very nearly _died._ I do not wish to alarm you, but I cannot in good conscience undermine the seriousness of your actions."

The disappointed, somber tone of Snape's voice hurt worse than when the professor had sounded so angry. Squirming in bed, Harry felt tears beginning to prickle in the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't think-"

"Exactly," said Snape. "You didn't _think._ You were foolish and irresponsible. I expect more from you."

Something in Harry's chest tightened painfully. "I just- I didn't mean to. I didn't know! I just- the nightmares- and I-" Harry pushed himself upright in bed, shaking his head from side to side. Really, he hadn't meant to! He had to make Snape _understand!_ "I couldn't sleep without something to help! And the nightmares- they got so _bad,_ Professor! Please- I'm sorry! I just- I can't-"

"Harry," Snape's voice interrupted his panicked rambling. "You must calm yourself. Slow your breathing- now."

Detachedly, Harry realized that his chest was heaving- his breaths coming out in short, rapid pants. Shivering, Harry tried to follow Snape's instructions, forcibly willing himself to take slower breaths.

"Good," he heard Snape murmur from somewhere to his side. A firm hand pressed on his shoulder, prompting him to lay down. Harry complied, feeling too dizzy and weak to protest at the moment.

"Deep breaths," Snape reminded him, sitting back down in his chair. His tone was mild, but he continued to watch Harry with fixated intensity.

Harry managed a nod, focusing on his breathing. A minute or so passed, and he felt his anxiety begin to lessen. Flushing, Harry turned his head away from the professor, feeling horribly embarrassed about the whole situation.

"Better?" Snape asked. Still avoiding looking at the man, Harry gave a tiny nod. He was such a _baby._ Freaking out over a whole lot of nothing. Harry tucked his chin against his chest, curling his body into a tight ball under the covers.

"Harry. Look at me."

Snape spoke from behind him, his voice firm and insistent. Reluctantly, Harry rolled over in bed, raising his head from the covers to meet Snape's eyes. "Sorry," Harry apologized again, his voice soft and unsteady.

Snape frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "What exactly are you apologizing for?"

Harry paused at the question, slightly taken aback. "Um- well. Everything, I guess. Getting sick. Being stupid, and foolish, and uh- irresponsible, like you said. Overreacting and stuff about my nightmares and taking those potions to begin with." He shrugged, unsure of what more to say.

Snape shook his head. "Yes. You were foolish, and irresponsible. And you should have had more common sense than to mix unfamiliar potions. And you should feel sorry for deceiving Madame Pomfrey, specifically. But that is _all_ you have to feel sorry for," Snape said, stressing his last sentence. "Do _not_ apologize for having nightmares, or for "overreacting", or for any other misguided guilt you may feel about things you have no control over!"

Harry stared at the professor, eyes wide with astonishment. "I- um-" he stammered, heart racing.

"You are not a machine, Harry. You have no control over your dreams. Nightmares can be terrible, horrible, all consuming things. I do not want you to feel as though having them and being upset over them is something to feel sorry about. They're _not_ something to be ashamed of. You are not overreacting, and having them does _not_ make you weak. Do you understand me?"

Snape's voice was firm and utterly sincere. Harry felt tears begin to well in his eyes. Sniffling, he nodded rapidly, clenching his fists. "Yeah, I understand," he replied. And to his surprise, Harry found he really meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! All sorts of fluff and comfort and feels for your personal gratification! I really enjoy writing these sort of scenes between Snape and Harry- it makes me happy to write, and I hope you enjoy reading it too! Harry's such a sad mess, I just want to give him a big hug. Thank you so much, as always, for your continued support! Your comments make me smile so hard and give me so much encouragement to write! If you take the time to leave one, or kudos/bookmark this piece, I truly appreciate it! I work night shift this next week (blah) so I may not be able to update as quickly as I have been, but I'll try my hardest! Hope everyone has a great week! :)


	13. Chapter 13

"Albus, have you the time to speak?"

The Headmaster looked up from his desk with a smile. "Ah, Severus! Of course- I'm not busy at the moment. Just occupying my time with a bit of light reading." The man gestured to a large tome that lay open on his desk, its words written in a language which Snape didn't recognize. "I find that reading in Mermish keeps this old mind sharp," he explained, taping his temple with an amused chuckle.

Snape nodded politely, taking a seat in the chair across from the Headmaster's desk. Smoothing his robes as he sat, Snape frowned deeply. After speaking with Harry that morning in the Hospital Wing, he had been struck by an idea. A horrible, but potentially brilliant idea- one he was certain he'd live to regret. However, he wasn't quite sure how to breech the subject with the Headmaster.

As uncannily observant as ever, Albus seemed to sense his hesitation to speak and took control of the conversation.

"How is Harry today, Severus? I haven't had the chance to visit him myself."

Snape inclined his head. "Improved. More lucid than yesterday, at any rate. Poppy says he should be fit for release in a few days time, though he'll need another week's worth of potions for the residual damage."

Albus sighed wearily. "We have your skill to thank for Harry's life, Severus. Without you, he could very well have died."

Snape shrugged. "Any Potions Master worth their title could have brewed the antidote."

"Perhaps. But certainly not with your dedication and fervor, nor under such a time constraint."

Snape waved his hand dismissively, bristling at the praise. "It is of little consequence now, at any rate."

Albus merely smiled, his blue eyes twinkling madly. "Now, what was it you wished to discuss?"

Snape pursed his lips. "Actually, it has to do with Potter, speaking of the boy. Poppy told you everything? About the sleeping potions, and the nightmares?"

The headmaster hummed in acknowledgement. "Yes, she did. I must say, I was most distraught to learn of Harry's plight. For him to think _that_ was a viable solution. He is so young. Far too young for the horrors he has witnessed in his short life."

Albus blinked solemnly. Snape shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Indeed," he agreed stiffly after a moment.

Plucking a handkerchief from the folds of his robe, the Headmaster dabbed at his eyes and sniffled morosely.

Snape shuddered and hurriedly changed the subject. "At any rate, Albus- that is what I wished to discuss. The boy needs a new method for dealing with his night terrors. He can no longer rely on sleeping potions to help him- not after this incident. So, I thought, perhaps-"

Albus lowered his handkerchief to the table, staring intently at Snape with keen eyes. "Yes, Severus? What would you suggest?"

Snape swallowed harshly. "Occlumency." He spat out the word before he could change his mind.

Albus positively beamed. "Occlumency. Now, that _is_ an interesting suggestion."

"Hardly. By training his mind to compartmentalize emotions and memory, the boy may be able to obtain some degree of control over his nightmares. The method has been known to work successfully in the past."

"I quite agree with you, Severus. I merely meant that it is an interesting suggestion, coming from _you."_

Snape grimaced at that. "I'm hardly bursting with excitement over the idea. But if I am correct, learning this could greatly help the child."

"Indeed," Albus smiled, eyes crinkling. "Am I safe in assuming that this is your way of offering your expertise in the matter?"

Snape bit his tongue. "Yes, Albus. Make me say it aloud. _Yes._ This is me, offering to willingly teach Harry Potter Occlumency."

Albus chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. "Now, no need for such dramatics. I am merely surprised, in the best possible way."

With great restraint, Snape managed to avoid rolling his eyes. "I take it you give your permission, then?"

"Of course," the Headmaster replied. "It is an inspired idea. Occlumency is something that Harry should learn regardless, though he is perhaps a few years younger than I had anticipated. But with your diligent tutelage, Severus, I've no doubt that Harry will succeed in this endeavor."

 

* * *

 

"Oh, _Harry!"_

Walking into the Gryffindor common room, Harry grunted as Hermione flew into him, nearly bowling him over as she enveloped him in a firm embrace.

"Her-mi-nee," he grunted as the girl squeezed him tightly. "Can't breathe!"

"Sorry!" Hermione apologized hurriedly, releasing him with a distraught gasp.

Ron, who stood behind Hermione, looked Harry up and down with a worried sort of frown. "You sure you're okay, mate?"

"Er- yeah," Harry replied, feeling terribly uncomfortable by all the attention. "I'm fine."

Hermione let out a keening sort of sound and looked nearly ready to hug him again. "Harry! Oh, you just sort of- collapsed! And we didn't know what was wrong- and then suddenly you weren't _breathing-_ and Snape had to cast these _spells-"_

"And then stupid Pomfrey wouldn't even let us visit you!" Ron interrupted vehemently. "Damn biddy insisted you needed your _rest."_

It spoke volumes to Hermione's distress that she didn't rebuke Ron for his comment. Wringing her hands together, Hermione seemed very near tears. "Oh, Harry! I've never been so frightened! But what happened to you? Madame Pomfrey wouldn't tell us what was wrong- just that you were ill but improving."

Harry tensed, glancing around the common room. "Not now," he protested. "There's too many people around."

Hermione grabbed Harry by his robe sleeve, bodily dragging him into a far corner of the room. Lifting her wand, she cast a long string of silencing and privacy spells. "There! Now, _tell us!"_

Looking back and forth between Ron and Hermione and their expectant expressions, Harry wilted. He didn't really want to admit to what had happened, but he supposed he owed his friends an explanation.

"Well," he began hesitantly. "It's kind of a long story. I really was sick, but it's hard to explain."

"Try again, mate. That wasn't like any sickness I've ever heard of." Ron shook his head back and forth slowly. "Hermione's right- it was bloody scary. We really thought you were going to _die."_

Harry shrunk in on himself. He hadn't meant to _frighten_ his friends. "Sorry," he mumbled rather helplessly. "Well- um. It's like this. I've been- well, I've been taking sleeping potions lately. To help with my- uh- nightmares." Harry faltered at this admission and had to force himself to continue. "I took two potions that didn't react right together- and they made me really sick."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione breathed, looking so sympathetic that it made Harry's stomach hurt.

"It's fine," he insisted hurriedly. "I'm fine now. I swear."

Ron just looked confused. "Sleeping potions? I didn't know you were taking any sleeping potions- or that you'd been having nightmares. Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry shrugged, horribly uncomfortable. "It's not a big deal. I've just been having bad dreams sometimes. The potions helped, but I'm not allowed to take them anymore. Pomfrey says they could do more damage. And that I'm- uh- too dependent on them." Harry felt his cheeks burn with humiliation. Merlin, he _really_ did not want to be having this conversation.

Ron opened his mouth, looking about ready to ask more nosy questions. Before he could speak, Hermione nudged him in the side and gave him a very pointed look. "We're just glad you're okay. Right, Ronald?"

"Er- yeah, mate," Ron agreed. "Uh- you are better now though, right?"

"Yeah, I really am," Harry insisted. "I have to take a few potions every day for a week or two, just to help heal any- uh, residual nerve damage." Harry frowned, trying to remember the exact wording Madame Pomfrey had used. "But really, I feel fine. You know how Pomfrey is. She's just being overcautious."

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, I'm glad you're better now, at any rate. But Harry- let us know if you need anything? If you need help, or want to talk about anything with us? We are your friends, after all."

Harry nodded slowly. He trusted his friends- really, he did. But talking about his nightmares- it just seemed like such a _personal_ sort of thing. But he also remembered Snape, saying that nightmares were nothing to be ashamed of. To an extent, he supposed the professor was right.

"Yeah, okay," he conceded after a moment. "I'll ask if I need help. Really. I promise."

Something softened in Hermione's face and she gave Harry a fond smile.

Scratching the back of his head, Ron abruptly changed the subject. "Er- well, good thing it's the weekend now, because you missed an entire week's worth of classes, mate. I suppose you'll want to borrow Hermione's notes- they're _loads_ better than mine. But you can copy my Divination essay, if you like. Doubt Trelawny will even notice."

Harry nodded gratefully. "Yeah, thanks." He had nearly forgotten about all the schoolwork he'd missed… Merlin, how was he ever going to catch up on everything?

Hermione seemed to read his mind. "Don't worry, Harry. I'll talk you through everything you missed. We have the entire weekend to catch up on your schoolwork!" She looked a bit too delighted by this idea.

Ron patted him on the shoulder consolingly. "Well, at least you don't have any Potions to do- we didn't have class at all this week. You got sick during our first class, and Snape ended up canceling on Wednesday as well."

Harry frowned at this. Snape _never_ canceled class.

Hermione smiled softly. "Actually, he canceled all his classes, those first few days. I'll bet you anything that he was working on brewing you a cure. Madame Pomfrey did mention something about a potion that had made you better, one of the times we tried to visit."

Harry was absolutely stunned. Snape had canceled his classes, just so he could work on brewing potions for _Harry._ Somehow, the thought of this made him smile involuntarily.

Ron frowned thoughtfully. "That day you got sick in class- well, Snape was bloody _brilliant,_ he was. Cast all these funny sort of spells to get you breathing again. Really saved your life, I think." Ron shook his head, looking rather disturbed from the idea.

Nodding in agreement, Hermione chimed in. "He really did. Thank goodness it happened in class, when the professor was there. I would have had no idea what to do, had it just been us."

Harry faltered. "I didn't know it was that bad," he admitted softly.

"It was," Hermione said shortly. "Never scare us like that again, Harry."

Ron still looked put out at the thought of Snape saving the day. "Blimey. Never thought I'd say it, but I agree- thank bloody Merlin for Snape. He's a toss up of a professor, and a greasy git otherwise, but he really saved your life, Harry. So I guess he isn't _that_ terrible."

High praise coming from Ron. Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah," he agreed after a moment, something glowing warm in the center of his chest. "He really isn't."

 

* * *

 

The weekend passed in a blur of homework and studying. Cramming five days worth of schoolwork into one weekend was quite the impossible feat- but with Hermione's help, (copying Ron's homework hadn't hurt either), Harry managed to nearly catch up on everything he'd missed.

There was one good thing about having so much schoolwork to do- Harry didn't have much time to sleep. Less time asleep meant less time for nightmares. And when he did sleep, he was so knackered that he'd somehow managed to sleep straight through the night. Though relieved, Harry was certain his luck was too good to last.

He returned to classes that Monday, and much to his relief, Harry found that most of his professors were quite accommodating to his week-long absence. Professor Lupin had graciously given him a two week extension on the Defense exam he'd missed, and even Mcgonagall had been oddly lenient, telling him to turn in his missing assignments "Whenever you find the time, Potter."

Potions was quite the solemn affair, however. That first day back, Snape informed their class that they would be working through material at double-pace, to catch up on what they'd missed the week prior. Already pants at Potions when it was taught at a normal speed, Harry floundered to keep up in class.

Come Tuesday, Harry found himself wondering if he should show up for his normally scheduled lesson with Snape. The professor hadn't mentioned anything about postponing lessons for the week. This had Harry a bit confused, since Snape had been so insistent recently about him not overexerting himself. Harry was pretty sure that nearly dying had to count for a bit of "overexertion", and he half expected Snape to cancel lessons because of it. However, to his relief, Snape hadn't said a word about it, so Harry kept silent as well.

And so, Harry found himself standing outside the closed door of Snape's office that evening, wondering whether or not to knock. Well, the worst the man could do was send him away, Harry supposed. Shrugging, he reached up a hand and rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Enter."

Harry squared his shoulders and opened the door. Snape sat hunched at his desk, grading a stack of papers.

"Er- I'm here for my lesson, Professor," Harry spoke after a moment of silence, lingering uncomfortably in the door-frame.

Snape looked up from his work briefly and made a noncommittal noise. "Have a seat, Mr. Potter. I'll be with you shortly."

"Um, alright," Harry agreed, sinking down into the chair across from Snape's desk. Swinging his legs back and forth, Harry studied his lap fixedly.

A long minute passed, and finally Snape set his quill aside and looked up to meet Harry's eyes. "How are you recuperating, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blinked, a bit startled by the sudden question. "Uh- fine, I guess. I mean, I feel fine anyhow. Not tired or achy or anything. But Madame Pomfrey says I still have to take all those potions anyways."

"When taking Regenerative potions, it is necessary to finish the entire course of treatment, even if one _feels fine_ halfway through. I explained this in class last month, when we learned about different classes of Healing potions, if you'll recall."

Harry did not recall, but was hardly going to admit as much to Snape. "Yes, sir."

The professor gave a small hum of acknowledgement. Folding his hands under his chin, he studied Harry carefully. "You are here for your lesson?" he finally spoke.

"Um, yeah," Harry replied, not quite sure why Snape sounded so cryptic with that question.

Snape nodded thoughtfully and paused a long moment before speaking. "Considering the light of recent circumstances, I believe it may be prudent to cease our lessons for the time being."

Harry felt his stomach sink. "But- Professor," he protested, clenching his fists tightly. "I don't _want_ to stop the lessons!"

"It is not your decision," Snape informed him frankly. "It is mine. And I do remember informing you that I retained the right to cancel these lessons if I felt they were detrimental to your health."

"But they're _not!"_ Harry shook his head frantically. "I'm fine! They're not _detrimental-_ or hurting me- or whatever else you're going to say! I can't quit now- I'm so close to casting a real Patronus! You _said_ you would help me- you _promised!_ You bloody well-"

"Calm yourself, Mr. Potter," Snape interrupted coolly, though his eyes glimmered dangerously. "Before you say something you regret."

Seething, Harry bit his tongue. This was just what he'd been afraid of. He should have known Snape would pull some sort of stunt like this. He was _never_ going to learn how to cast a Patronus now! He'd never learn how to protect himself from the dementors! Blinking back angry tears, Harry dug his nails into his palms in frustration.

Snape sighed, leaning back in his chair, looking suddenly drained. "There is no need for such theatrics. I am not doing this to be cruel. I don't think you quite understand how badly these interactions with the Boggart are affecting you, Harry. You admitted to me that you dream about the memories which dementors make you relive. Being exposed to these memories so frequently, through interacting with the Boggart- I believe these lessons are making your nightmares _infinitely_ worse."

Harry felt his anger deplete somewhat. He knew what Snape was saying held some truth, but it didn't stop him from feeling terribly disappointed. Frowning, Harry slumped down in his chair, unable to help himself from pouting a tiny bit.

"However," Snape spoke again after a moment of tense silence. "I am a man of my word. And I did promise to help you learn the Patronus charm. Once you have better control of your nightmares, we can discuss resuming our lessons."

That didn't make Harry feel any better. "But, Professor- Madame Pomfrey said I can't take sleeping potions anymore. My nightmares aren't going to get any better all on their own. I'll never learn to cast a Patronus at this rate."

"Stopping the lessons will likely improve your nightmares outright," Snape pointed out. "But I do see your point. And I would like to offer a possible… solution."

Harry glanced up at the professor with wary eyes. "What do you mean? Is there some other sort of potion I could take, then?"

"No," Snape said shortly. "Nothing like that. Madame Pomfrey is quite right in her assessment. You have become far too dependent on potions to help you sleep, in far too short a time. No matter the formulation or how closely we monitor you, it is not healthy for you to resume regular use of any sort of sleeping potion."

Harry knew that. Pomfrey had told him as much, but hearing it from Snape made it seem all the more real. "Yeah," he sighed heavily after a moment. "Fine. I get it. But really, you and Pomfrey both make it sound like I've got some sort of _problem."_

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I dare say that deceiving your elders, taking multiple potions at once, and thereby poisoning yourself to near death constitutes as a "problem", Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged rather helplessly. Well, when Snape put it that way, he supposed it did sound sort of bad. "I really am sorry, Professor," Harry apologized after a moment, feeling suddenly guilty.

"I do believe you've already said as much. Though this conversation does serve to remind me of something important. I'll need to confiscate the remainder of your sleeping potions- I hardly think you need the temptation lying around. Unless Madame Pomfrey has seen fit to do so already?"

Harry froze. "Uh-" he stammered. "Well... I brought her back what was left of the one she gave me. But-"

Snape went dangerously still. "But _what,_ Potter?"

Oh, shite. Harry's stomach sank, and it took all his courage to continue speaking. "...but the Dreamless Sleep you gave me is gone. I already finished that bottle, before I got sick."

Harry felt an overwhelming, instinctive urge to run and hide as he watched the professor's features contort with fury.

"You _what?"_ Snape snapped, and Harry found himself flinching involuntarily. "You mean to tell me that you used the _entire_ bottle?"

"Um, yeah," Harry admitted in a quiet voice, hunching his shoulders up round his ears.

Snape looked absolutely livid. "That bottle had enough potion in it to last nearly a _month,_ if taken in proper dosage and frequency. You mean to tell me that you consumed it all in the span of a mere _week?"_

Harry's chest clenched at the accusatory tone of the man's voice. Had he really? Harry knew he'd taken it a few more times than the professor's three times a week rule. And maybe he had taken an extra swig, one or two nights. But he hadn't realized he'd taken that much of it.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized helplessly, not knowing what else to do.

"You idiot child," Snape growled. "Foolhardy does not even _begin_ to describe your actions. I assume _that_ is why you sought additional potion from Madame Pomfrey? Because you used all that I had given you?"

Harry nodded minutely, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Snape breathed heavily for a moment longer, looking nearly ready to strangle Harry. "I thought I was quite clear with my instructions when I gave you that potion to take."

"You were," Harry mumbled ashamedly. "I- I didn't realize that I had taken that much. I wasn't thinking. I just wanted the dreams to stop, I guess. I'm sorry."

Snape shook his head tightly, looking rather stricken. "It is no wonder you experienced such a strong reaction, with that much Dreamless Sleep already habituated in your body. But I suppose it is as much my fault as yours. I should not have trusted you with that potion to begin with."

Harry flushed. "Sorry," he apologized again, hating how disappointed the professor's voice sounded. "I'm sorry-"

"Stop," Snape firmly instructed. "There is no need to repeat yourself incessantly. Apologizing does not change your actions, nor does it restore my trust in you outright. That is something which you must earn back."

Harry nodded, feeling about the size of a mouse. Merlin, Snape was right. He had been stupid, and reckless, and hadn't even stopped to think about what taking so much potion might do to him. The professor was right not to trust him.

Across the desk, Snape rubbed his face with a heavy sigh. "We have gotten wildly off topic. Rash and thoughtless as your actions were, I do understand the source of your desperation. And that is why I am offering a tentative solution to your nightmares. Have you ever heard of Occlumency?"

Still feeling horribly guilty, Harry shook his head slowly. "No, sir."

Snape gave a curt nod. "I expected as much. It is not an art taught at Hogwarts, nor is it often spoken of. It is rather advanced magic, and a bit archaic at that."

Harry frowned. Occlumency. The word sounded foreign and unfamiliar. "What is it, Professor?" he asked tentatively.

"It is… an ancient branch of magic," Snape spoke carefully. "Being overly concise, it is a type of protective mind magic. It involves closing one's mind- thoughts, feelings and memories- to external penetration and attack."

Harry didn't really understand what Snape was saying, but he nodded tentatively all the same. "Alright," he said slowly. "But, how does that help with my nightmares? Sir?"

Snape faltered. "...Occlumency has many uses. It can help protect the mind from mental attack- another branch of magic known as Legilimency. But it can also protect the mind from overwhelming emotion. Trained Occlumens are able to repress emotions and memories, when necessary. They are able to exert complete control over their psyche. Some find this- technique- useful for suppressing nightmares as well."

Harry struggled to follow what the professor was saying. "So, if I learn this- Occlumency thing- it will stop my nightmares?"

"There is no guarantee," Snape admitted. "And it is notoriously difficult to master. If you are not naturally gifted in the art of mind magic, you may never become a skilled Occlumens, no matter how much instruction you receive or how much you practice."

"But it might work," Harry prompted, biting his lip. He couldn't take sleeping potions anymore- that was blatantly obvious to him, now. But if there were something else that could help with his nightmares...

Snape nodded in agreement. "It might. And if you are successful in learning the art, there is a good chance it will. But it will require intense dedication and focus to learn proper Occlumency, Harry. And the method for learning is not a... pleasant experience, to say the least. Are you quite certain you're up for the task?"

Harry didn't have to think twice about his answer. "Yes," he replied resolutely. "If it might help, then I want to try, Professor."

Harry swore he saw something akin to approval in the Snape's face. "Good," the man spoke after a moment. "Let us begin, then. There is no time like the present, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support in form of comments, kudos and bookmarks! And thank you so much to those of you who left comments, I love reading all your thoughts and praise! I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	14. Chapter 14

"Hey, Hermione. What does 'ven-er-able' mean?"

Hermione didn't even look up from her Arithmancy text. "Respectable," she answered distractedly.

"Oh." Harry frowned at the book he held in his hands. "Thanks. Um. How about, 'nas-cen-ery'?"

"Birth, or beginning. Really, what are you reading that has that sort of vocabulary, Harry?" Hermione set down her own book with a frustrated sigh.

"Um." Harry gripped his book tighter. "Just something Snape gave me to read for our next lesson. He's teaching me some new things. But the book's a bit confusing. I don't really understand a whole lot of it, so far."

Hermione ripped the book from Harry's hands before he could protest. "Occlumency: an Exhaustive Commentary for the Novice Occlumens," she read its title aloud.

Ron looked up from his own homework. "Occlum-whaty? Never heard of it."

Hermione squealed loudly. "Harry! You're learning _Occlumency_ too? That's such advanced magic! Oh, I'm so _jealous!"_

And she looked it too. Bouncing up and down in her seat, she cracked open the book and began to flip eagerly through its pages.

Ron frowned and craned his neck, trying to peer over Hermione's shoulder. "What the hell is Occlumency, then? And why are you learning it?"

Harry shrugged. "Uh- I don't really know how to explain it. I don't really get it myself. It's like- some sort of magic you do to… protect your mind, I suppose? Snape's going to try and teach me. He thinks it might help my- uh, nightmares." Harry flushed, voice trailing off as he glanced around the library to see if anyone nearby was listening.

Ron nodded thoughtfully. "Oh. Alright then. Whatever helps, mate."

"Oh, Harry. What can you do so far? Have you learned any of the seven principal blocking techniques? You'll try and teach me, won't you?"

"Um, I guess," Harry agreed hesitantly. "But I haven't really learned anything yet. Snape just lectured a bit and gave me that book to read for our next lesson. We haven't started any real practicing."

"Ooo! You'll let me borrow it when you're done?" Hermione gripped the book possessively.

"Sure. I haven't even made it past the introduction though," Harry admitted. "I don't understand half the words."

Hermione frowned and flipped back to the beginning of the book. "Occlumency, ever the venerable and antiquated craft- its origins emanating ere the nascenery of neoteric magic," she read the first sentence aloud.

"See," Harry sighed. "Makes absolutely no sense."

"Occlumency is both respectable and ancient, originating even before the birth of modern magic," Hermione translated, tracing her finger across the line of text.

"Well, why can't they just bloody say that?" Harry moaned dishearteningly, sinking back in his seat. "Between all the Potions work we have to catch up on, and now this book, I'll never finish everything!"

Ron nodded sympathetically. "You know, Hermione. If you'd just let us copy your Potions essay, things would be a whole lot simpler."

Hermione scowled. "You'll never learn if I let you copy everything. Besides, do you really think Professor Snape wouldn't notice?"

"Fair point," Ron admitted. "Man's got eyes like a ruddy owl. They see _everything."_

Hermione rolled her eyes. _"Anyway._ Do you want me to talk you through the first few chapters, Harry? I don't mind. I'm just working ahead in Arithmancy, and this looks much more interesting."

"Um, sure," Harry agreed. He wasn't too excited about learning Occlumency, in all honesty. From what Snape had told him, and what little he'd read about it so far, Occlumency sounded both boring and difficult. But if it helped with his nightmares, Harry was definitely willing to try. Plus, if he did learn it, then maybe Snape would agree to restart his Patronus lessons. That's what Harry really wanted, anyhow.

Hermione beamed. "Let's start now!" she insisted, scooting her chair next to Harry's. "Oh, isn't magic just _fascinating?"_

 

* * *

 

That night, Harry dreamed for the first time in over a week.

He woke mid night, sweaty and shaking, bolting upright in bed as he fought his way from the throes of a nightmare.

Panting, Harry swept a hand across his sweaty brow. Already, his memories of the nightmare were fading. He couldn't quite remember what he'd been dreaming about, though he knew instinctively that it'd been something horrible. His pounding heart and queasy stomach betrayed that much. Even so, he much preferred these fragmented sort of dreams to the overly realistic types he'd been having recently.

Plopping down in bed, Harry dug under his pillow to retrieve his wand. Waving it in the air, he was relieved to see that his silencing spells had held. He had taken to casting them again since his return from the Hospital Wing, just in case the nightmares returned. Now, he was glad he'd had the foresight to do so. Really though, he'd been lucky to avoid having a nightmare for this long, Harry reasoned. One bad dream a week was way better than having one every single night.

Harry frowned and rolled over in bed, trying hard to turn his thoughts elsewhere. Screwing his eyes shut, he struggled to fall back asleep. It was a good thing he didn't have any sleeping potions lying around, Harry reckoned. He would give his wand-arm right about now for a dose of Dreamless Sleep.

Pulling his blankets over his head, Harry exhaled shakily. Merlin, Snape was right. He really _was_ dependent on potions to help him sleep. He hoped that Occlumency would help with his nightmares and subsequent insomnia, or else he was in some serious trouble.

He was set to have his first Occlumency lesson with Snape tomorrow, and Harry couldn't help but feel anxious about it. He had managed to struggle through the first quarter of the Occlumency book, and though Hermione's translations had helped, he still didn't feel like he really understood anything. He'd even attempted a few of the mind-clearing exercises the book suggested at Hermione's prompting, but even that had just left him feeling confused and frustrated. How was he supposed to clear his mind on command, just like that? The book made it sound so easy...

What if it was like Snape had said, and he simply wasn't gifted in the art of mind magic? What if he was bound to be terrible at Occlumency, and this was all just a gigantic waste of time? What if he never managed to learn Occlumency, or if he _did_ learn but it didn't help anything, and he was destined to have these godawful nightmares for the rest of his life?

Harry groaned aloud, burying his face into his pillow. All these 'what-ifs' were enough to drive him mental. He supposed it was good he had his first lesson tomorrow- less time for him to dwell on things. Hopefully Snape could make more sense of Occlumency than the stupid book could.

 

* * *

 

The next evening, Harry met Snape at their normally scheduled lesson time. He didn't really know what learning Occlumency entailed, or what he might need for their lesson, so he'd brought along his wand and the Occlumency book, just in case. After all, it was always best to be over prepared when it came to Snape.

"Ah. You've finished it, then," was the first thing Snape said when Harry entered his office. At Harry's look of confusion, the professor gave a pointed nod at the book in his hands.

Harry flushed, setting the book down a nearby table. "Um, not exactly," he replied, sinking into the chair across from Snape's desk. "I mean, I tried. I read some of it. Made it through three or four chapters, but I only had a few days. And it's really confusing," Harry admitted, shrugging rather helplessly.

He half expected Snape to make some sort of snide comment, but to Harry's surprise, the man merely inclined his head in acknowledgement. "It is, admittedly, an outdated text. Unfortunately, it is one of the better available options. Occlumency is rarely studied or taught anymore, so texts on the matter can be a bit... difficult to decipher."

Harry smiled hesitantly. "That's one way of putting things. Even Hermione had trouble understanding some of it, and that's saying something."

"Indeed," Snape replied dryly. "At any rate, I thought it may provide some base of understanding for you, though these lessons should serve more useful, I would hope."

"Yeah," Harry agreed with a shrug. "I guess. I tried some of those- uh, exercises- the book talked about. Like that meditation thingy that's supposed to help clear your mind. But it didn't work right. It doesn't make any sense."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"Er- well," Harry stammered. "I mean- the book talked about clearing your mind. And about meditation helping with it. But how can I be expected to think about nothing at the drop of a hat? I mean, I'm always thinking about _something._ It's not natural to think about _nothing_ at all- for your mind to be... well, blank." Harry frowned, struggling to voice his thoughts out loud.

Snape pursed his lips. "Fundamental mind anchorage, or as you so eloquently put it, 'that meditation thingy', is a bit more complicated than that. But I do admit that the book gives a rather generalized impression."

Harry frowned. "Well, what does it mean, then?"

Snape drummed his fingers on the desk, looking thoughtful. "It is one of the principal techniques of Occlumency, and the base for many forms of mind magic. It is a form of meditation which assists in focusing and honing the mind, thereby allowing for more advanced Occlumency techniques, such as placing mental blocks, or protecting against mental attacks. It does involve clearing your mind, in a way. Through focusing and meditating intensely on a sole object or concept, other thoughts, emotions, and memories are subdued. It is less about outright repression and more about... exerting control."

Harry must have looked as confused as he felt, because in the next moment, Snape was sighing and rubbing a hand across his face. "It is difficult to put into words," the professor admitted. "Occlumency is such an introverted, intuitive type of magic. Those with an affinity for it, like myself, hardly need instruction. It is more of a... birthright, you could say."

"Well, I don't think that's the case for me, Professor," Harry sighed, sinking back in his chair dejectedly.

"Perhaps not," Snape conceded. "Which is why I believe practical application is our best means to success."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It means that you will be learning by actively doing. Try to think of it this way," Snape further explained at Harry's blank look. "When learning a new spell, you can learn its origins and incantation and wandwork flawlessly. But that hardly means you know the spell, does it?"

"No." Harry's head was beginning to ache from the onslaught of new information. "I guess not. I mean, it's like with the Patronus charm, right? I know _how_ to do it, technically speaking, but that doesn't mean I can. That's why I needed the lessons."

"Precisely. It is only through _doing_ that one is able to truly learn a spell. Occlumency is similar in that regard- you must train your mind and actively practice the techniques if you have any hope of mastering it."

"Alright," Harry agreed slowly. "That makes sense. But how are you going to teach, then? I mean, it's not like you can really _show_ me what to do, or even tell me if I'm doing it right. It's not like casting spells- it's all in my head, after all."

Snape folded his hands under his chin, dark eyes appraising. "There is a way," the professor spoke after a moment, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "A method in which I believe we may have success. But I would need your consent, as it can be a rather... intimate experience."

The back of Harry's neck prickled uncomfortably. Something in the professor's tone was deeply unsettling to him. "What do you mean?" he asked after a moment of tense silence, uncertainty ringing heavy in his voice.

"I can enter your mind," Snape spoke bluntly. "I can use Legilimency to enter your mind, and thereby actively assess and test your Occlumency skills."

Harry felt his eyes grow wide in alarm. "What- you mean, like, read my _mind?"_ His stomach clenched at the mere idea. "You've got to be joking!"

Snape stared at him, unblinking. "I assure you, I am quite serious."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "No. No bloody way. I don't want _you_ in my head!" In his panic, the words came out harsher than he'd intended.

Something seemed to shift in Snape's face. "I'm not overly fond of the idea either, Potter," he spat after a moment, voice tight. "However, I am not suggesting it for pleasure's sake. It is the most practical- nay, the _only_ method for me to successfully teach you. Otherwise we'll be floundering in the dark. There is no way to assess your progress without allowing me access to your mind."

Harry's head spun. Struggling to calm his nerves, he clenched his fists tightly. "But- you would be reading my mind, right? Like, you would see everything that I'm thinking about?"

Snape nodded tersely. "A gross oversimplification, but that is the general idea of Legilimency."

Harry felt ill. "But, I don't _want_ you in my mind! Some stuff is private, you know." He felt himself flush with embarrassment.

Across from him, Snape appeared to be struggling to maintain his decorum. "Rest assured, Mr. Potter. Anything I may incidentally see during these lessons will remain between us. I am hardly eager to go around sharing your teenage woes with my colleagues."

Harry scowled, face burning. "I still don't like the idea," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You have made me well aware of that fact," Snape replied shortly, eyes narrowed. "However, there is no practical alternative. If you want to successfully learn Occlumency, this is the only feasible method for doing so."

Harry bit his lip, avoiding Snape's gaze. He _did_ want to learn Occlumency. And if it helped get his nightmares under control, it would be well worth the trial and effort. But the idea of having Snape, of having _anyone_ inside his mind…

The professor seemed to sense his conflict. "Harry," Snape addressed him directly, suddenly completely serious. "All jesting aside, I do promise to be discreet. I will not go searching through your memories, nor hold anything I may see against you. Have I given you reason not to trust me?"

Harry paused. In the past, he would have _never_ considered letting Snape inside his mind. But now… he wasn't fond of the idea by any means. But Snape was right- recently, the professor hadn't given Harry any reason to doubt him. He had saved his life, and seemed to genuinely care about helping with his nightmares. And his reasoning did make sense. If this really was the only way to learn Occlumency and stop the nightmares…

"Alright," Harry agreed hesitantly. "Fine. Yeah. Let's do it. I haven't really got much of a choice, do I?"

Snape hummed softly, his eyes shadowed. "There is always a choice. I will not enter your mind without your overt consent. Learning Occlumency is not a necessity. If you are truly adverse to the idea, we do not have to continue with these lessons. I will not have you play the role of martyr. Not in this manner."

Harry visibly deflated. "Yeah, I get it, Professor. But I really do need to learn Occlumency. You say it's a choice, but it really isn't- not for me. I can't live with these nightmares forever. So, yeah. I consent, or whatever it is you want me to say. You can enter my mind and use that Legilimency thingy. If this is my best chance of learning Occlumency, then I'll do whatever it takes."

Across the desk, Snape gave a curt nod. "Very well. Then, let us begin." Suddenly all business, Snape abruptly broke eye contact with Harry and stood, casting a few quick spells to push his desk back against the office wall. Conjuring a second chair, he took a seat directly across from Harry.

Swallowing harshly, Harry visibly tensed as he eyed the wand Snape held in his hand. Dread settled heavily in his stomach. Merlin, he really wasn't looking forward to this.

"Relax," Snape instructed firmly. "I'll give you fair warning before casting anything. But first, I need to instruct you on what to do."

"Ok." Harry forced his shoulders to relax minutely. "Alright. What's first?"

"We'll need to work on meditation before anything else," Snape replied. "It is the base of all Occlumency. As I mentioned earlier, one of the primary techniques is known as mind anchorage. This was discussed in detail in the first few chapters of the book."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, that was the thing I tried to do. The one that didn't really work."

Snape frowned. "It is something you will need to master if we have any hope of progressing further. Once you find imagery that works for you, it should come fairly naturally."

"Um, ok," Harry replied doubtfully. "But- what do I do? I mean, I read about it. But like I said, I didn't really get it. All that 'clearing your mind' business just seems strange to me."

"Perhaps we should disregard the text entirely," Snape sighed, looking rather pained. "If that is the impression it has given you. Mind anchorage is a form of meditation. It involves meditating on one specific thing. This varies from person to person. Some people pick a familiar object to focus on. Sometimes it is a more general phenomenon, such as fog, or fire, or something to that effect. Others find the best results through meditating on a certain feeling, or emotion. The difficult part is finding what works best for you."

Harry nodded. That made a whole lot more sense than the way the book had explained it. "Alright, but what does that accomplish?"

"The meditation focuses your mind on one singular thing. You are in conscious control of your thoughts, that way," Snape explained. "It is difficult to put in words, but once you are successful in the meditation, you will understand its implications. The control it allots is critical for success in Occlumency."

"I guess that kind of makes sense. So, how do I know what to meditate on?"

"Trial and error," Snape replied candidly. "I can offer suggestions- common imagery that works for some. But in the end, you know yourself best. Trust your instincts. Try whatever feels right. Eventually, you will find what works for you."

Surprisingly sound advice, coming from Snape. "What should I try first?" Harry asked after a moment of contemplation. Hell if he had any idea of what imagery to choose. All this Occlumency stuff was so strange and foreign to him.

"Overall, the most common anchorage technique involves focusing on a specific object. Something real and concrete. Many people find more success with this as opposed to meditating on something more conceptual, such as an emotion or feeling."

"What sort of object?"

"It needs to be something you can easily picture in your mind, but the specifics do not matter," Snape explained. "It can be a rock, a quill, your wand, a piece of jewelry, a burning candle. It can be a mundane or treasured possession. People have success with both. Some even meditate whilst picturing a specific person- though that is much less common. But it needs to be something real and tangible, if you are using this specific technique."

"That doesn't really help narrow things down," Harry frowned. "So really, I could picture _anything."_

"Yes," Snape admitted. "To an extent. It is not an exact science."

Harry sighed. Merlin, half of this stuff was going straight over his head. "Well," he pondered, glancing around the office. "I guess... I'll try picturing my wand," he decided, choosing the first familiar object he saw. His holly wand lay resting on Snape's desk in the corner of the room.

"Very well." Snape nodded, gripping his own wand tighter. "Close your eyes. Picture it in your mind, as clearly and as detailed as you can. Then, focus intently on that image, and think of nothing else."

Exhaling shakily, Harry leaned back in his chair and did as the professor instructed. Clamping his eyes shut, he tried to picture his wand. It was surprisingly difficult to do, considering he used the bloody thing every single day. "Alright," he spoke after a moment, keeping his eyes tightly closed.

"Now, focus on that image," he heard Snape speak. "And clear your mind of all other thoughts."

Harry tried, but doing so was easier said than done. Brow furrowing in concentration, his head ached from the intensity of his efforts.

He heard a rustle of robes across from him. "Do not panic," Snape spoke after a moment, his voice closer now. "I am going to enter your mind. Try not to fight me. The sensation can be a bit unsettling, at first."

Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He gripped his trousers with sweaty fingers, trying hard to focus solely on his imagery and not on his mounting panic.

He felt a gentle pressure on his forehead as Snape's wand pressed against his temple. And then-

"Legilimens."

 

 

_He sits by the Great Lake, Ron and Hermione by his side. The sun is bright and warm, the grass prickly against his bare feet. Laughter at an innocuous joke made by Ron, and then-_

 

_A quill scratches against parchment. Professor Binns lectures at the front of the classroom, voice monotone. He struggles to pay attention- really, as if the Goblin Rebellion could be any more boring-_

 

_He is laying in his bed, staring at the bed curtains. He yawns widely, exhausted, yet unable to fall asleep despite this. His head aches, his eyes burn from lack of sleep-_

 

_The smell of cooking bacon. He takes the spatula and flips the strips crackling in the frying pan. His stomach growls. He is so hungry- surely, he could sneak just one piece-_

 

_A rush of wind against his face. He cheeks feel chapped and raw, but he hardly cares. His heart pounds in exhilaration. He's seen it! The snitch is over there, next to the goal post-_

 

_The room is dark, pitch-black save for the strip of light peeking from under the door. He lies on his lumpy mattress, his boredom and hunger all consuming. Maybe he can sneak out, come nightfall-_

 

 

Harry gasped, sucking in a long, shaky breath as he came harshly back to reality. Mind reeling, he allowed his head to fall backwards, slumping down in his chair. Staring at the ceiling with unblinking eyes, he struggled to catch his breath, panting as though he'd just run a marathon. "I- what-" he stammered, struggling to speak coherently. "What-"

"Hush," Snape interrupted. The professor's face filled his field of vision, black eyes surprisingly concerned. "Drink this."

Through bleary eyes, Harry recognized the vial Snape held as Pepper-up. He certainly felt as though he needed it. Reaching up with trembling fingers, he managed to grasp the vial and down the potion in one go.

"Thanks," he murmured, sitting upright as his fatigue eased and his trembling limbs steadied. Handing the empty vial back to Snape, he rubbed a hand against his aching forehead. "What was that?" he asked, struggling to gather his racing thoughts.

Snape hovered for a moment longer, standing nearby until Harry had managed to pull himself upright in his chair. Taking his own seat, the man looked uncharacteristically fatigued. "Those were your memories. Fragmented thoughts and recollections from your subconscious. I was not searching for anything specific, so your mind instinctively pushed forward pieces of random memories."

"Is it always that… intense?" Despite the Pepper-up, Harry still felt utterly spent from the brief experience.

"No," Snape replied. "The first time is always the worst. It will become easier as your mind grows further accustomed to external penetration. As your mind becomes accustomed to mine, specifically."

"Thank Merlin for that," Harry muttered under his breath. "I take it the meditation didn't work, then?"

Snape shook his head. "If it had, I would have only seen your imagery, instead of your memories."

Dejected, Harry let out a defeated sort of sigh.

"Frankly, I would have been stunned had you managed it on your first try," Snape pointed out. "Like I said, finding imagery that works for you is largely trial and error. Do not allow yourself to become disheartened by one unsuccessful attempt."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I know. It's just kind of disappointing."

The professor inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Regardless, lamenting over your failures is hardly the method to success. Now, do you feel up to one more attempt, or shall we call it a day?"

Squaring his shoulders, Harry took a steadying breath and pushed his doubts aside. "No, I'm fine. I want to try again. You're right- the only way I'm going to learn is with practice."

Snape regarded him with discerning eyes. "Very well, Harry. Close your eyes and focus your mind once more. That's right. _Legilimens."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the slight delay on this chapter. Night shifts absolutely killed me this past week, and this chapter was kind of a bitch to write. I had to invent a whole lot of magical theory about Occlumency... Thank you so much for your continued support! Special thanks/shout-out to everyone who has taken the time to leave comments on this fic! I read and treasure each and every one of them, and your praise and encouragement are definitely what motivate me to keep writing! :)
> 
> If anyone is interested, I have also started another HP fanfic, a Draco/Harry post-war romance/angst, multi-chapter piece. Go check it out if you're interested!


	15. Chapter 15

Occlumency was horribly exhausting. This was the singular thought which consumed Harry's mind as he lay in bed later that night, struggling toward sleep. It was a different sort of exhaustion than he was used to- than the type he normally felt after a long Quidditch practice, or an especially intense day of classes. This was a profound, mental sort of exhaustion. His mind was foggy and spacey, as though stuffed full of cotton, and it was abnormally difficult to focus his thoughts. When he had mentioned this to Snape, the professor informed him the feeling was both expected and temporary, and would lessen with each subsequent Occlumency lesson.

Harry fluffed his pillow under his head and closed his eyes, allowing his fuzzy mind to wander aimlessly. Having someone rifle through his brain had been quite the experience. He understood why it was necessary, but that didn't make it any easier to tolerate. Having no control over his thoughts- having someone _literally_ read his mind- it was more than a bit unsettling.

Snape had only performed two rounds of Legilimency during their lesson. The second round had left Harry markedly less incoherent than the first, but Snape insisted they stop after two attempts. "The mind is a fragile thing. Too much Legilimency at once is ill-advised," had been the professor's firm reasoning.

He had dismissed Harry with instructions to practice meditation during his free time. "Try meditating on various objects. See what allots you the most focus," Snape had advised. "We will test the effectiveness of your Occlumency during our next lesson."

Lying in bed, Harry briefly attempted to meditate, choosing images of a few random objects to focus on in turn. Despite his best efforts, he found his thoughts inevitably begin to wander. It was strangely difficult, trying to focus on solely one thing.

Defeated, Harry sighed and rolled over in bed. He was too exhausted to try and meditate right now. Doing so required a surprising amount of concentration. Resolving to try again come morning, Harry pulled the covers over his head and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

* * *

 

He had Quidditch practice that next evening. The first match of the season was rapidly approaching- less than a week away now. Harry had missed Gryffindor's last practice, having been unconscious in the Hospital Wing at the time. When he showed up to the Quidditch field that evening, Oliver Wood was practically beside himself over it.

"Harry! What do you think you're doing, going around missing practice? We were short a player and couldn't properly scrimmage last week!"

"Er- I'm sorry," Harry apologized, hunching his shoulders in marked discomfort over the upset in Oliver's voice. "I didn't mean to. I was sick."

"Well, I know that!" Oliver snapped, face flushing nearly as red as his robes. "I meant, what are you doing letting yourself get sick? You need to be in prime condition for our match next week! Whatever you've been doing to land yourself in the Hospital Wing lately, _stop._ Got it?"

"Oy, calm down," Fred interrupted, clasping Oliver firmly on the shoulder. "Relax, Oliver. We've still got another two practices left before the game. Don't get your knickers in such a twist. Besides, it's not Harry's fault he was sick."

Oliver deflated somewhat. "I know that. But we can't afford setbacks if we want any chance at winning. You guys do want to win- _right?"_ He glanced around at his teammates, looking more than a bit frenzied.

They all nodded dutifully. "Sorry, Oliver," Harry apologized again in an attempt to appease the other boy. Harry liked Quidditch as much as the next bloke, but Oliver Wood was scarily obsessive about it sometimes.

Looking chagrined, Oliver sighed. "Me too, Harry. I know it's not your fault. But this is my last year at Hogwarts. It's my very last chance to win the Quidditch cup, you know?"

"We know, Oliver," Katie Bell interrupted, rolling her eyes and snickering quietly under her breath. "You've only mentioned it about fifty times this week alone."

Oliver flushed and abruptly changed the subject. "Alright you lot. Let's get to practicing, then. No use dallying around!"

The team took to the sky. Gripping his broomstick tightly, Harry closed his eyes against the biting rush of wind and inhaled deeply. He always forgot how much he loved flying until he was in the air again. Circling the Quidditch pitch to fly laps with his teammates, Harry smiled softly, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in weeks.

 

* * *

 

Harry came down late to breakfast the next morning, having slept in after Quidditch practice ran late the night before. "Morning," he addressed Hermione, sinking down in his seat at Gryffindor table and yawning widely.

"Good morning." Hermione took a tidy sip of juice. "You missed the announcement. Professor McGonagall just went around and informed everyone that Defense classes are to be cancelled today. And that Professor Snape will be taking over class for the rest of this week and most of the next."

Harry's eyebrows shot up past his forehead. "What? How come?"

"What does that matter?" Ron groaned from across the table. "It's bad enough having Snape teach Potions, let alone Defense! _And_ we have an exam next week! If Snape writes the bloody thing, I'll fail for _sure!"_

"She didn't say why," Hermione answered Harry's question, pointedly ignoring Ron's grousing. "But Professor Lupin's not at the head table this morning. Perhaps he's sick? Though it would be strange if that were the case. He would have to be quite ill to miss that many classes."

Harry glanced up at the front of the Great Hall. Sure enough, Lupin's usual chair between Hooch and Mcgonagall was noticeably vacant.

"Dunno," he murmured, serving himself a hearty pile of eggs and sausage. "But you're right. It is strange."

Hermione hummed in agreement. "Plus, Madame Pomfrey's at breakfast this morning. She generally takes her meals in the Hospital Wing when she has patients. You would think if Lupin were that ill, she'd be busy tending to him, wouldn't you?"

Merlin. Harry forgot how frighteningly clever Hermione was at times. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "Hope he's alright." And really, he did. Harry had grown rather fond of Lupin in the short time he'd known the professor.

Hermione smiled tightly. "Maybe it's nothing. Perhaps he just had some work to catch up on, or a conference to attend."

Across the table, Ron interrupted their musings. "Blimey, don't look so dismal," he informed his friends with a deep frown. "I'm sure Lupin's _fine._ Can we focus more on the fact that _Snape_ is teaching _Defense_ for the next week? I know you like him well enough, Harry, but you have to admit that he's a ruddy awful professor."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, I guess," he agreed hesitantly. "Maybe it won't be so bad, though." After all, Snape seemed to be a surprisingly decent teacher when he put his mind to it; at least when it came to matters such as Occlumency.

Ignoring Ron's continued complaining, Harry lost himself in thought. Maybe the reason behind Lupin's absence was something innocent. However, there was something deeply concerning about the way Lupin looked at times. The professor always seemed so terribly exhausted, with dark circles lining his eyes and a pale, sickly complexion. Plus, Harry didn't think Lupin would let Snape take over his classes for any old reason.

No. Something about the situation definitely didn't sit right with Harry, and much as he tried, he couldn't shake his feeling of unease.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Harry was set to have his second Occlumency lesson with Snape.

He had spent nearly all his free time the past few days trying to practice meditation, but he hadn't had very much success in finding imagery that worked for him. No matter what object he chose to meditate on, he was never able to keep his thoughts focused for very long. He tried concentrating until his head ached and throbbed from the effort, but it was no use. Clearly, he was pants at Occlumency.

"Perhaps we need to attempt a different visualization technique," was Snape's wry response when Harry informed him of this.

"Yeah, maybe," Harry agreed with a shrug. "Dunno if it'll help anything. I think I'm just rubbish at this meditation business."

Snape made a noncommittal noise. "As with anything else, success will come with time and practice."

"I guess." Harry sighed and glanced up at the professor. The man sat watching him with an unreadable expression. "You really think I can learn this?" he asked after a long moment of silence, voicing the question aloud almost unconsciously.

"Yes." Snape did not hesitate before responding. "With commitment and dedication, and a great deal more patience than you are generally apt to demonstrating."

Harry flushed. "Well, glad you think so at least," he murmured.

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement. "In any case, if you are not finding success through meditating on tangible objects, we should attempt a different form of imagery."

"Ok," Harry agreed easily. "Uh, what should I try, then?"

Snape raised a single eyebrow. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted with a frown. Really, he was completely in the dark when it came to Occlumency. He had no idea what sort of imagery would work best for him.

"Nothing comes to mind? Nothing at all? Sometimes, raw instinct can be the best guide."

"No. Sorry," Harry apologized, stomach clenching horribly. Merlin, he really was terrible at this. "I have no idea."

"Hmm." Snape frowned, looking pensive. "Perhaps your imagery needs to be more conceptual. It is possible that your mind may fixate more easily on theoretical imagery as opposed to corporal. The technique is less common, but can allot success to some who have difficulty with tactile meditation."

Harry stared. "Um, what?"

Snape glanced over, as though remembering Harry was still sitting there. "Thus far, you have only tried visualizing actual, real objects," the professor explained more slowly. "You may have success with more… abstract imagery. Colors, feelings, experiences, and other similar intangibles."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "I really don't get any of this, Professor," he admitted in a small voice. "None of this makes any sense to me."

Snape regarded him with hooded eyes. "Yes. I do believe I am beginning to understand that."

All at once, Harry felt horribly miserable. Looking away, he bit his lip and stared fixedly at a wall in the corner of the room. Really, this was all bloody pointless. He had absolutely no chance of learning Occlumency. This was all just a gigantic waste of time and energy.

Snape seemed to sense his upset. "Harry," he commanded firmly. "Look at me."

Cautiously, Harry glanced over at his professor. The man regarded him with a wholly serious expression.

"This is far from a hopeless endeavour," Snape informed him after a moment of prolonged silence. "We have scarcely begun our lessons. When you first learned the Patronus charm, you were unable to cast anything at all. Do you recall?"

Harry shrugged, staring resolutely at his feet. "Yeah."

"And now, you are nearly able to produce a fully corporeal Patronus. That progress did not occur overnight. Occlumency is similar in that regard. Learning it will take time."

"That's different, though." Harry drug his shoe back and forth against the stone floor, feeling terribly sorry for himself. "I'm good at Defense. I'm rubbish at this mind magic stuff."

"Defense may come more easily to you," Snape conceded. "But do you really intend to give up on Occlumency so quickly? I did not take you for a quitter, Mr. Potter."

"I'm not," Harry disagreed heatedly, raising his head to look at the professor.

"Then prove it." Snape stared unblinkingly. His eyes gleamed intensely, as though daring Harry to argue.

Harry grit his teeth. Occlumency just seemed so impossible. He didn't understand _anything._ And then, there was the fact that it seemed to be his last hope toward helping his nightmares. And that Snape refused to let him practice his Patronus until he learned it. The threat of failure loomed over Harry like a dark, ominous cloud. It was difficult _not_ to feel hopeless.

But Snape was right. He was no quitter.

"Fine." Harry clenched his fists tightly. "I will."

Snape gave a sharp nod of approval. "Then I expect no more of this sort of nonsense. I need your full efforts and attention if we are to have success. None of this wallowing, childish self-pity. If you act as such, you are destined to fail before you even begin to try. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," Harry muttered, staring fixedly at his lap.

"Then let us begin. We have wasted enough time today."

Harry nodded slowly, feeling about as small as a mouse.

Snape gave a pained sort of sigh. "Very well. If you truly have no inclination toward any specific imagery, let us attempt another common technique."

"Ok," Harry agreed quietly. "What's that?"

"Elemental imagery."

Harry frowned. The term sounded vaguely familiar. He had a feeling he must have briefly read about it in the Occlumency book. "Elemental… like, earth, or water, or that sort of thing?"

"Precisely," Snape replied briskly. "Using elements of nature as a focal object for meditation has been utilized by wizards since the beginnings of time. Nature and magic are closely rooted, in many regards. This technique is documented in some of the oldest texts concerning Occlumency."

"Oh," Harry said simply, still feeling rather unenthused. "Um, sure. I guess we can try that."

Snape paused, seemingly considering something. "My own chosen imagery for mind anchorage is of the elemental type," the professor spoke after a long moment. "Therefore, I may be able to offer more applicable advice regarding this technique."

That caught Harry's attention. "What imagery do you use, sir?" he asked, interest suddenly piqued.

Snape regarded him solemnly. "Fire," he replied shortly.

Fire. Somehow, that seemed fitting.

"Ok." Harry nodded decisively, feeling newly invigorated. "Let's try it. Do you think I should try fire too, Professor? Or should I picture something else?"

Snape continued to stare, his expression impassive. "We may as well attempt with fire. Unless another idea comes to mind?"

Harry shook his head.

"Very well." Snape suddenly produced his wand from somewhere within his robes. The sight of the familiar, dark wood had Harry's stomach instantly churning with anxiety. He'd almost forgotten how much he hated this part of the lesson.

"This should not be nearly as unsettling as the last time," Snape informed him matter of factly, clearly sensing Harry's unease. "Remember what I told you. Your mind will become more accustomed to Legilimency with each encounter. This may feel slightly uncomfortable, but not to nearly the degree it did during our last lesson."

That set his mind a bit more at ease. Forcing his body to relax back in his chair, Harry gave the professor a tight nod.

"Close your eyes," Snape instructed firmly. "And picture fire in your mind. As detailed an image as you can manage."

With a shuddering exhale, Harry clamped his eyes shut and did as the professor instructed.

"Focus on the image of burning flames. Try to imagine the sensation that fire may offer. Focus on the feeling of heat, specifically. Use that sensation to help ground your thoughts and your focus."

Harry tried his best to comply with these instructions.

"Feel the sensation of heat; of complete burning. Allow it to consume your body. Consume your thoughts and your being. Focus on the heat, and the flames, and let it burn away everything else."

Harry breathed slowly, in and out, again and again, picturing his imagined flames. Focusing on the feeling of heat. Trying hard to think of that and nothing else.

He remained focused in his meditation, even as he felt a familiar wand-tip press against his forehead.

"Legilimens."

 

 

_He sits hunched in an armchair in the common room. His Charms textbook lays open on his lap. His mind wanders, tired and unfocused, as he reads the same line of text about Summoning Spells repeatedly-_

 

_The summer sun beats down on him. His face and bare arms burn and itch from the unforgiving heat. His shirt clings to his sweaty back as he bends down, pulling weed after weed from the dark earth of the garden, bare hands calloused and cracking-_

 

_Ron's freckled face beams at him from his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory. Harry giggles uncontrollably- a whole-hearted belly laugh that makes his gut ache. Merlin, it's a good thing Hermione wasn't here to hear that joke. Ron's language is absolutely foul sometimes-_

 

_Thirty six. Thirty seven. Thirty eight wooden boards make up the ceiling of the cupboard. Same number as yesterday. Harry rolls over on his cot and begins to count the boards on the far wall. The Counting Game is one of the few ways to pass the time in here. One. Two. Three. Four-_

 

_The man's face is a bright, angry red color. He screams loudly- shouting loathsome insults and blatant threats, his face mere inches from Harry's. His breath is foul, and spittle flies from his open mouth. Harry shrinks back against the wall, heart pounding in his chest, feeling wholly terrified and absolutely helpless-_

 

 

Harry inhaled sharply as he fought his way from the depths of his memories. Panting heavily, he opened his eyes, scrambling to find purchase in his chair as he sat suddenly upright, adrenaline coursing through his veins-

"Calm yourself."

"What?" Harry managed to gasp, heart pounding so loudly he could hear it in his ears. He shuddered involuntarily as a chill worked its way through his body. Breathing seemed more difficult than normal; as though some vise were slowly gripping his lungs. Panicked, he tried to stand upright, but a pair of firm hands on his shoulders halted his progress.

"No- _sit down,_ you foolish child!"

Struggling to focus his vision, Harry only now noticed Snape standing directly in front of him. The professor was forcibly holding his body down in his chair, eyes wide with something akin to alarm.

"What-" Harry spoke again, voice cutting off as he struggled to catch his breath. "What happened?" he finally managed to voice aloud. His heart still thudded in his chest, but breathing was coming easier now, thank Merlin.

Snape did not reply. The professor stared at him with nearly frightful intensity, his lips set in a thin, firm line. His hands tightened minutely on Harry's shoulders. "You fought your way out of my Legilimency," Snape spoke quietly after a long moment.

"What?" Harry asked again, feeling terribly disoriented as he struggled to gather his thoughts. "You mean, the meditation worked?"

Snape seemed to realize that he was still gripping Harry by the shoulders. Abruptly, the man released his arms and took a cautious step backwards. "No," the professor spoke carefully, eyes never leaving Harry's face. "No. It did not. I still saw your memories."

Harry sunk back in his seat. Now that the adrenaline rush had left his body, his limbs felt strangely boneless and rubbery. "Why do I feel so awful?" he asked, rubbing his forehead with a shaky hand. "I thought you said it would be better this time."

The professor continued to hover nearby, watching Harry with hawk-like intensity. "It should have been, had I simply released you from the spell. But you fought your way out of the Legilimency before I was able to."

"I did?" Harry blinked dumbly. "I don't remember doing that. I didn't even know I _could_ do that."

Snape gave a tight nod. "It is a more advanced Occlumency technique. Something I had not anticipated teaching you at this time." The professor paused for a long moment and took a seat in his chair, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "However," Snape continued, keeping his voice carefully controlled. "If a memory is… distressing enough, the mind can sometimes be triggered to fight its way from Legilimency involuntarily."

Harry frowned. Distressing memory? What did Snape mean?

And then, Harry's memories finally caught up with him. He felt his stomach drop somewhere past his knees as he remembered the last memory he'd seen during his attempt at Occlumency-

Oh. Uncle Vernon.

All at once, Harry's heart started hammering in his chest again. His palms grew sweaty and he felt the blood rush from his face. Harry glanced hurriedly at Snape. The professor continued to stare unabashedly, his gaze steadfast and piercing-

Oh. And Snape had seen.

Trying to school his features into something more neutral, Harry took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Merlin, this was about the last thing he needed right now. Snape witnessing all of his horribly embarrassing childhood memories. This was exactly why he'd been reluctant to let Snape in his mind in the first place. It wasn't like he had anything truly terrible to hide, but even so- having the professor see his Uncle _screaming_ like that- shouting _Freak_ and all those other godawful names... it was enough to make Harry feel physically nauseous. It was absolutely _mortifying._ He didn't want _anyone_ knowing about those sort of things, least of all Snape.

Across from him, the professor continued to stare, eyes unwavering.

"What was that last memory, Potter?"

Of course Snape wouldn't just let the matter drop. Reluctantly, Harry raised his head and met Snape's stony eyes. "Nothing, sir."

"Who was that man?"

Harry clenched his hands into fists and bit his tongue, struggling to maintain an impassive face. "My Uncle, sir," he replied shortly when the professor continued to stare pointedly.

Snape hummed, arms tightening minutely across his chest. "And your... Uncle. Is he always so... uncouth?"

Harry merely shrugged, the gesture rigid.

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously.

 _Shite._ Wrong answer.

"No, sir," Harry hastily insisted, trying hard to keep his voice light and nonchalant. "No. I don't remember what that memory was about. I probably did something wrong and Uncle Vernon was just a bit upset about it."

Snape frowned deeply, looking terribly grave. Before the professor could comment, Harry continued, trying desperately to change the subject.

"Um, should we try again? I think it was easier to meditate that time. Maybe this elemental stuff is working for me after all."

Snape's dark eyes flickered to meet his own. "No," the professor replied after a long moment, voice strained. "No. I do believe that is enough for today. It would be unwise to perform further Legilimency with your mind in such an… unsettled state."

Harry flushed in embarrassment.

The duo sat in uncomfortable silence. Snape's brow furrowed deeply, and he opened his mouth as though to speak-

"Uh, I should get going," Harry blurted out, rising ungraciously from his seat. "It's almost curfew. And I still have homework to finish."

"Hmm," Snape breathed. For a second, Harry was certain the professor would argue, but the man merely pursed his mouth and gave a curt nod.

Harry nearly sighed aloud in relief. Quickly gathering his things, he avoided looking Snape in the face as he hurried toward the office door.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry froze, hand hovering over the doorknob. Swallowing against a lump in his throat, he reluctantly turned back around. Snape had risen from his chair. Looking uncharacteristically tense, the professor crossed his arms over his chest and studied Harry searchingly.

"...I will have to cancel our Occlumency lessons next week," Snape spoke stiffly. "And regret that I will have to continue to do so for one week each month."

"Er- ok," Harry agreed hesitantly. "Every month? How come?"

"While teaching both Potions and Defense classes, my course load will be too full to accommodate additional lessons."

Harry frowned. "You mean, you're taking over Lupin's classes for more than just next week?"

Snape froze, his expression frigid. "Yes. I will be teaching Defense periodically throughout the school year."

The professor offered no further explanation. Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, feeling rather like a specimen on display as Snape continued to stare brazenly.

"That's fine," Harry replied awkwardly. And he meant it. As much as he wanted to learn Occlumency, all he wanted in the moment was to be well and rid of Snape and his prying questions.

"See you, Professor." With that, Harry turned and fled before Snape could speak again. The back of his neck prickled uncomfortably as he strode down the hallway, and he was certain that Snape continue to watch him until he finally rounded the corner at the end of the corridor.

 

* * *

 

Something wasn't right.

Mind reeling, Snape gripped the edge of his desk to ground himself. Mindlessly, he spelled his office door shut with a flick of his wand.

No. Something wasn't right at all.

For the boy to be able to break out of Legilimency was deeply concerning in and of itself. Harry had no formal training in that sort of Occlumency. That he had been able to fight his way from Legilimency suggested that something in his memories had deeply unsettled his unconscious.

And Snape knew what it was. He had witnessed the memory firsthand. That man- Harry's _Uncle-_ swearing and screaming those unfathomable words. Looming over the boy, looking positively psychotic. He had seen Harry cringe and cower- had felt his absolute _terror and panic-_

Snape swallowed thickly. His mind raced over the possible implications of that singularly disturbing memory. He felt equal parts relief and regret over not having seen the memory's conclusion.

He knew the boy lived with his Muggle relatives. Petunia, and her louse of a husband. He had never met the man, but knew Petunia well enough from their brief, childhood interactions. He couldn't imagine that unpleasant, haughty girl had ended up with anyone with a better character than herself.

But even so- Harry was their nephew. Savior of the wizarding world. He was supposed to be pampered, overindulged and _loved._ This wasn't right at all. Snape dared not even think the word that kept turning itself over and over, almost tauntingly, in the deepest corners of his mind. _Abuse-_

He shook his head harshly. No. He mustn't let his suspicions run awry. Perhaps the memory was a one-time occurrence. An extraordinary circumstance when Harry's Uncle had lost his temper. After all, a glimpse of one memory was not solid proof of anything.

But suddenly, Snape remembered something else. Another lesson- weeks earlier. When he and Harry had been working on the Patronus charm. When they discussed choosing happy memories. A strange, offhand comment, which he hadn't thought anything of at the time-

_I don't have many happy childhood memories._

Snape shuddered involuntarily at the recollection. No. There was no denying it. Something was definitely amiss.

Sinking down in a chair, Snape allowed his mind to wander, his thoughts teeming with suspicion and misgiving. He was a difficult man to unsettle, and seldom did he find himself quite so disturbed as he felt in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, thank you so much for your lovely comments, guys! You are all so wonderful, and I so appreciate your support!
> 
> I apologize for the delay on this chapter. I was out of town the past few weeks visiting family and attending a wedding, so I haven't had the chance to do as much writing as I'd like recently. Plus, I've been working on updating my other HP WIP if anyone cares to check that out! :) 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! As always, kudos and comments are the lifeblood to my writing. If you take the time to leave either, I'd so appreciate it! In particular, I very much appreciate everyone who has taken the time to tell me that the pace of this story feels realistic. I'm a sucker for a realistic, slow-build, but I always worry that I'm taking things too slow, so your comments greatly reassure me that I'm not ;)


	16. Chapter 16

"How was your lesson, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry mumbled shortly. Feeling beyond exhausted and more than a bit cranky, he dropped his book-bag haphazardly on the ground and flopped onto the couch next to Ron and Hermione. Leaning his head back against the sofa, he stared at the ceiling and let out a long-suffering sigh.

He saw his friends exchange a look out of the corner of his eye. "Er, you sure you're alright, mate?" Ron was the first to speak. "You seem... tired."

Harry shrugged and burrowed further into the couch. Yes, he was tired, but that hardly accounted for his bad mood. That had more to do with the horrifying fact that Snape had seen such an embarrassing memory during their Occlumency attempt tonight. That the professor had witnessed Uncle Vernon in all his raging, insufferable glory. _You disgusting freak! Just as unnatural as your ruddy parents. Should have left you to freeze on the doorstep as a baby. I'll teach you to cower from me, boy!_

The tips of Harry's ears began to burn at the memory. Merlin, just the thought of it was mortifying. Even his best friends didn't know how horrible the Dursleys really were. He knew Ron suspected some of it. He and his brothers had been the ones to rescue Harry that summer when his relatives locked him in his bedroom. But he didn't know the worst of it, and that was the way Harry wanted to keep it. He didn't want his friends knowing about that sort of stuff, let alone _Snape_ of all people.

Harry shuddered involuntarily. The thing was, he hadn't lied to Snape about not recalling that particular memory. Uncle Vernon had made it an unfortunate habit to scream and belittle Harry on a regular basis. What transpired in that memory wasn't an uncommon occurrence, and honestly, the thought of it didn't phase Harry too much. The memory wasn't _distressing,_ or whatever else Snape had implied. He wasn't traumatized or anything; he just didn't want Snape knowing about all that ugly stuff.

Really, it wasn't like he had any truly distressing memories to hide. His relatives never _beat_ him or anything like that. But even so... no one needed to know about all that other shameful stuff. About the name-calling and the screaming and the chores and the _cupboard._ No. Harry could deal with that by himself.

"Um, Harry?"

Realizing he'd been daydreaming, Harry came back to reality with a start. Hermione sat watching him with a terribly concerned expression plastered on her face.

"Are you feeling alright? You look pale."

Shaking himself from his stupor, Harry forced himself to crack a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," he insisted in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. "It was just a long lesson. Occlumency is harder than I expected."

Hermione frowned deeply but did not comment further.

Ron seemed to take his explanation at face value. "That's rough, mate," he said, voice sympathetic. "Snape treating you alright though? Not being too big a git, is he?"

Harry shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Snape's been decent, lately. And you know, he's actually not that bad of a teacher when he puts his mind to it."

Ron looked horrified at the mere suggestion. "You're mental, mate."

Shrugging, Harry tucked his feet up underneath his legs and nestled his head into the corner of the couch. Staring at the flickering flames of the fireplace across the common room, he felt as though he could drift to sleep right there on the couch.

Mind foggy, he half listened as Ron and Hermione began to bicker about Snape and his teaching merits, or lack thereof. All at once, their conversation jogged something in Harry's memory.

"Oh yeah. Forgot to mention. Snape said he'll be teaching Defense the rest of the year."

Well. That certainly caught their attention. Whipping his head around, Ron's mouth literally dropped open. He looked as though his birthday and Christmas had been canceled all at once.

"Snape's _what?"_

"Uh- I don't mean for the _entire_ year," Harry corrected himself hurriedly. "Just every so often. He said he's taking over for Lupin once a month, or something like that."

"Well, that's _nearly_ as bad! Every bloody _month?_ I'm going to fail. I'm going to fail Potions _and_ Defense and my mum is going to kill me," Ron moaned, looking very near tears.

"Every month?"

Harry glanced over. Hermione had gone suddenly and unnaturally stiff.

"Um, yeah. That's what Snape said. He's taking over Defense classes for one week every month."

All at once, Hermione stood bolt upright from the couch, eyes growing wide. "Every month."

"Yes," Harry repeated slowly, brow furrowing in confusion.

Ron took a brief break from pouting to glance over at Hermione. "What's wrong?"

Seemingly realizing they were still sitting there, Hermione turned to stare at the boys for a fleeting second. "Every month," she repeated the words for a third time, sounding more than a bit dazed. "I... I'll be right back." Abruptly, she turned and all but sprinted toward the common room portrait hole.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted after her, standing up from the couch as well. "Where the bloody hell are you going? Curfew is in less than ten minutes!"

Hermione ignored him, the threat of missed curfew not even enough to deter her. "I won't be long!" she called without looking back. "I just need to check the lunar charts in the library!"

With that, the portrait hole swung shut behind her. Harry glanced down at the ground, belatedly realizing that Hermione had left both her wand and her discarded shoes lying on the floor in her hurry.

Ron sat back down on the couch, shaking his head slowly back and forth. "Mental, that one," he commented offhandedly to Harry. "Absolutely mental. Honestly, _lunar charts?_ She doesn't make any bloody sense half the time."

Feeling dazed, Harry merely nodded, staring at the portrait hole that Hermione had just fled from. "Yeah," he agreed quietly. Inside his head, however, his thoughts raced frantically.

Lunar charts. Every month. Lupin missing class. Every month. Lupin looking horribly ill. Every month. _Lunar charts._

Oh.

Harry wasn't half as clever as Hermione on his best day, but he _was_ good at Defense. And he had good intuitions. And suddenly, everything seemed to click into place and he was certain he knew _exactly_ what Hermione was suspecting.

 

* * *

 

Hermione's frantic trip to the library confirmed their suspicions. Lupin's recent illness coincided perfectly with the full moon.

"It all makes so much _sense!"_ she insisted to the boys later that evening, sounding far too excited over the prospect that their Defense professor might be a werewolf. The trio sat huddled in a corner of the common room, talking in hushed voices so as not to be overheard. "The chronic, progressive fatigue! The unexplained absences! His-"

"But Hermione," Ron interrupted hurriedly. "A _werewolf?_ Yeah, it's all a bit suspicious, but-"

"His affinity toward defending other misunderstood Dark creatures! The _scars!_ And that first day in Defense class," Hermione continued, undeterred. "Professor Lupin's boggart was a _full moon!"_

Across the table, Ron was slowly turning a sickly shade of puce with each subsequent revelation. "A werewolf," he whimpered suddenly, sounding nearly faint. "Our Defense professor is a bloody werewolf."

Harry sunk back in his seat, feeling a bit dazed himself. Lupin was a werewolf.

Hermione nodded excitedly, eyes bright with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"Merlin's beard," Ron moaned, still looking rather ill. "Why does this stuff always happen with the Defense professors? First Quirrell, with You-Know-Who stuck on the back of his head. Then Lockhart with his fan club and his ruddy memory charms. And now Lupin's a _werewolf?_ It's like some sort of awful joke!"

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed, glancing hurriedly around the common room. "Hush, Ron! We don't need the entirety of Gryffindor knowing!"

Ron clamped his mouth shut. "Fine," he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. "Merlin. I can't believe Dumbledore would hire a werewolf as a professor. Bloody mental, he is. Not fit to be Headmaster if he's hiring werewolves to work at Hogwarts. And Lupin should be sacked as well."

Harry frowned deeply. "Hey, I like Lupin well enough. He's the best Defense professor we've ever had."

"But werewolves are monsters." Ron stared at Harry as though he had two heads. "Mindless, blood-thirsty, murdering _monsters!"_

"Oh, don't you go feeding Harry that sort of rubbish," Hermione snapped, glaring daggers at Ron. "Of all the narrow-minded, prejudiced things to say. _Really."_

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, they are," he insisted stubbornly. "You guys don't come from magic families. My brothers told me all about werewolves. About how they worked for You-Know-Who during the war. How they go around and bite _children_ in their sleep-"

"If you would bother to crack open a book for once in your life, you'd realize that all that talk is ignorant, fearmongering nonsense," Hermione interrupted briskly, sounding about as indignant as Harry had ever heard her.

Ron stiffened in his chair, face flushing nearly as red as his hair. "It's not nonsense," he growled, hands balling into fists at his side. "It's the _truth!"_

"It's a gross exaggeration and an unfortunate generalization of an entire group of individuals. The actions of a few defining a group as a whole. It's a stigma, and it's blatant prejudice. And if you believe anything otherwise, Ronald Weasley, you are a _fool."_

Ron stood up from the table so quickly that he nearly knocked his chair to the floor. His teeth were bared and he looked nearly too angry to speak. "You! I- you-" he stammered unintelligibly. Hermione stared impassively and raised a single eyebrow.

Ron let out a choked sort of noise. Turning on heel, he fled from the common room toward the boys dormitory without another word.

"I... what just happened?" Harry asked dazedly after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Across the table, Hermione visibly deflated now that Ron had left. "He'll come around," she sighed, rubbing a hand across her face with a grimace. "He always does."

"...But those things he said about werewolves. Are they true?"

"No," Hermione murmured, looking all at once exhausted. "No. The vast majority of werewolves are ordinary people who were dealt a hard lot in life. Werewolves aren't inherently evil, but because they're categorized as Dark creatures, wizarding society has a sort of stigma against them. But if proper precautions are taken, they're no more dangerous during the full moon than you or me."

Harry frowned, struggling to process this onslaught of new information. "So... Lupin..."

"He isn't blood-thirsty, or dangerous, or whatever other nonsense Ron might prattle on about. He's just an ordinary man who has to deal with a terrible affliction once a month. And I'm certain he takes the proper precautions so he's not dangerous during transformations. Dumbledore would never allow him to teach here otherwise."

"Right," Harry breathed, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything. "Right, then."

Hermione sighed. "You shouldn't let this change your opinion of Professor Lupin. Society ostracizes werewolves enough as is. He hardly needs his students turning against him too."

Harry's stomach clenched at the thought. He truly liked Lupin. The professor had been nothing but kind to him since they first met. He had saved Harry from the dementor on the Hogwarts Express. He had helped arrange his Patronus lessons. He taught his classes with enthusiasm and was a patient, fair professor. And he seemed to genuinely care about Harry and his wellbeing, strangely enough. So what if he was a werewolf? If it was like Hermione said and he wasn't dangerous during full moons, then what did it really matter?

"Yeah," Harry said decisively after a long moment of contemplation. "You're right. Lupin's a decent bloke, werewolf or not. It doesn't make any difference to me."

Hermione smiled at him, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "We can't tell anyone about this. If word got out around the school, Lupin would probably get sacked, even if he doesn't deserve it. Most people born in the wizarding world have the same sort of opinion of werewolves as Ron does."

Harry frowned. "You're probably right," he agreed. "But what about Ron? Do you think he'll tell anyone?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. "No, I really don't think he will."

Harry bit his lip, not entirely convinced. Ron was his best mate, but decorum definitely wasn't one of his strong suits.

Hermione seemed to sense his unease. "I think Ron's just afraid," she spoke quietly. "He was raised in a wizarding family. He's probably been taught that werewolves are dangerous since birth. He just needs time, but I'm sure he'll come around in the end."

"Alright," Harry agreed with a hesitant nod. "If you're sure."

"I am," Hermione insisted, though Harry noted she didn't sound very convinced of this.

 

* * *

 

The weekend passed in a blur. Ron pointedly ignored Harry and Hermione for the whole of Saturday, opting instead to shoot them dirty looks from afar. When they did try and speak with him, he turned his back and acted as though he were deaf to their remarks. And when Harry had sat down next to the boy at dinnertime, determined to make amends, Ron grabbed his plate and slid down the bench to sit with Ginny and the second-years instead.

Ron's childish behavior came to an abrupt halt on Sunday afternoon, after he raised a hand and shot Hermione a particularly vulgar gesture when they made coincidental eye contact from across the common room.

"Oh, that's it," Hermione growled, standing suddenly upright from her place next to Harry on the couch.

Harry watched with horrified fascination as Hermione stalked over to Ron and literally _dragged him by his ear_ to the far corner of the common room. Ron hollered the whole way there, scrambling frantically to try and free himself from Hermione's firm grasp to no avail. Shoving Ron into an armchair, Hermione placed her hands on her hips and hunched forward, hissing a long stream of words into the boy's face.

Harry couldn't hear what she was saying from across the room, but her quiet tirade lasted for several minutes. He could see Ron growing steadily redder and redder with embarrassment as Hermione continued to berate him. Slowly, the boy slid down in the armchair until his shoulders were hunched up round his ears, as though he could somehow escape from Hermione's wrath that way.

At long last, Hermione grabbed Ron by his shirtfront and muttered one last thing directly in his face. With that, she spun around and stalked back across the common room with an expression of unbridled fury plastered on her face. A pack of first-years scrambled out of her path, looking wholly terrified of the girl.

"Er... what did you say to him?" Harry asked hesitantly as Hermione sat back down beside him on the couch.

She smoothed her robes and huffed, still looking positively furious. "Never you mind."

Harry shrunk back in his seat. Merlin, Hermione was _scary_ when she got like this.

Hermione glanced over and her stony expression seemed to soften a bit. "Oh, I'm sorry," she sighed heavily. "It's not you. Ron just gets me so _angry_ sometimes!"

Harry glanced over at Ron. The boy still sat hunched in his armchair, red-faced, looking thoroughly humiliated.

"Um..." Harry breathed, still curious but not wanting to further provoke Hermione's wrath. "What did you..."

"Oh, I just told him in no uncertain terms how much of an _idiot_ he's being," Hermione spat. "And how he'd better get his head out of his _arse_ if he doesn't want to lose all his friends!"

Merlin. Harry could count the number of times he'd heard Hermione swear on one hand. She must be really upset to use that sort of language.

"Think he'll listen to you?" he asked quietly, daring to sneak another glance over at Ron's huddled form.

"He'd better," Hermione muttered dangerously. "If he knows what's good for him."

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Hermione could be fairly convincing when she put her mind to it. That next morning, Ron slunk down to the Great Hall and sank into his normal seat at the Gryffindor table across from Harry and Hermione.

"Sorry," he mumbled quietly after Hermione shot him a pointed look.

"What are you sorry for?"

Ron swallowed thickly. "Sorry for ignoring you guys. And for... for being an arse-hole pillock, like Hermione said."

Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. Hermione gave a curt nod. "Apology accepted," she replied mildly. "Harry?"

"Er-" Harry stammered, glancing up at his friend. "Um, yeah mate. It's all good."

Ron sighed, looking thoroughly relieved. "Thank Merlin," he murmured, beginning to spoon himself a heaping plate of eggs and bacon. "Couldn't sleep a wink last night."

Hermione cleared her throat. "And regarding Professor Lupin? You'll keep quiet?"

Ron grimaced at his plate. "Yeah, alright," he agreed reluctantly. "I won't tell anyone. I _promise._ It's just a lot to take in, you know?"

Harry nodded sympathetically. He was just glad Ron was speaking with him again.

Hermione hummed and tucked into her bowl of porridge. "Good." She nodded briskly. "Just remember, Ronald. Only the three of us know about this. And if word gets out, I'll know _exactly_ who couldn't keep their fat mouth shut."

Later that morning, as the trio made their way out of the Great Hall, Ron trailed behind and whispered a frantic warning to Harry.

 _"Never_ get on that girl's bad side. She's bloody _terrifying_ when she wants to be."

Harry smiled involuntarily. "She really is," he agreed with Ron, though he wasn't all too put out by the thought.

 

* * *

 

It was more than a little strange having Snape teach their Defense classes that week. Seeing the professor in a well-lit classroom with tidy rows of desks instead of steaming cauldrons- the sight just seemed _wrong,_ somehow.

But all things considered, Snape actually wasn't too terrible a Defense professor. Sure, he was his usual curt and abrupt self with the students, but he was certainly adept at the subject. No one could deny that. He was able to demonstrate every spell he taught his students and then some. And though he carried his no-nonsense attitude over into Defense classes, he lectured and taught with a great deal more fervor than he ever demonstrated in Potions. And to Ron's immense relief, their Defense exam that Monday was perfectly straightforward, and seemed to have been written by Professor Lupin himself.

Harry would have felt a great deal more relief over all this had he not been trying so hard to avoid Snape. It was a small blessing that the professor had canceled their Occlumency lessons that week, but the downside of it was that Harry had to see Snape _twice_ as often in class now. And after their last Occlumency lesson, he wanted to stay as far away from Snape as humanly possible. The professor had asked far too many nosy questions after seeing that memory, and though Harry had feigned nonchalance over the whole situation, he knew in his gut that Snape hadn't bought it. The last thing he wanted to do was to catch Snape's attention again, in any sort of way.

And so, Harry remained silent and withdrawn during both Defense and Potions class that week, only speaking when spoken to and never looking Snape directly in the face. The back of his neck prickled uncomfortably during class sometimes, and Harry was _certain_ that Snape must be staring at him when this occurred, but he dared not look to confirm his suspicions.

Harry was beyond relieved when he showed up to Defense that Thursday and saw Lupin sitting at his desk in the front of the classroom.

"Professor Lupin!"

"Professor, we missed you!"

"Snape was just _awful!_ He assigned us _way_ too much homework!"

"Are you feeling alright, Professor?"

"Why were you gone for so long?"

Students bombarded Lupin with comments and questions as they entered the Defense classroom. At the front of the room, Lupin regarded them with an embarrassed sort of grin, looking entirely unused to all the attention.

"Please, take your seats," he addressed his students, standing upright from his desk. As the professor made his way to the head of the classroom, Harry noted that the man was walking with a slight limp.

"I found myself a bit under the weather this past week," Lupin addressed his class once all the students were seated. "Professor Snape was kind enough to take over classes for me. To answer a few of your questions- yes, topics covered by Professor Snape _will_ be on your next exam. And I expect any assignments the professor gave you to be handed in by their proper deadlines."

A collective moan sounded throughout the room. Lupin grinned wryly. "However," he continued. "Professor Snape informed me that he had intended to give a pop quiz today. As I am not entirely up to date on what you've been studying this past week, I find it prudent to postpone said quiz indefinitely."

The students instantly brightened at this news. A smattering of cheers sounded throughout the room. Harry gave a small grin and was reminded exactly why he was so fond of Lupin.

The professor made his way back to his desk and sunk down in his chair with a slight grimace. "As I find myself still feeling a bit peaky, I do believe I'll stick solely to lecturing for this lesson," Lupin informed the class matter of factly. "Though I will reserve time for you to practice your Knock-back Jinxes at the end of class, as I'm told you've made _excellent_ progress on them while I've been away."

As the class progressed, Harry couldn't help but notice that Lupin still looked entirely worse for wear. Even just sitting at his desk, the professor seemed unnaturally fatigued, and quite frankly, looked as though a strong gust of wind might knock him over. Harry wasn't sure what was considered a normal recovery from a werewolf transformation, but he sincerely hoped that Lupin was alright, because he certainly didn't look it.

At the end of the hour, Lupin dismissed his class with a weary wave of his hand and a pained sort of smile. As the class packed up their bags, Harry turned toward Ron and Hermione.

"You guys go on to lunch. I want to stay behind a minute and ask Lupin a few questions about my assignment."

Ron, who had been eyeing Lupin nervously throughout the entire class, looked at Harry as though he were mental. "Er, you sure that's a good idea, mate?" he mumbled, sneaking a surreptitious glance over at Lupin. "Being alone with him, I mean?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron's misguided concern. "Harry will be _fine,"_ she insisted confidently. "And he's only going to ask about his assignment. Nothing else. Right, Harry?" She turned her piercing gaze toward him, looking suddenly serious and wholly terrifying.

 _Shite._ Of course Hermione would see right through his ruse. Harry hadn't intended to talk with Lupin about his homework at all. "Of course," he lied confidently. "I'm just confused about some of the stuff Snape told us about Banshees."

Hermione regarded him doubtfully, but Harry tried his best to keep his expression relaxed and neutral. "Well, alright then," Hermione agreed slowly. "We'll save you a plate, I suppose."

"Thanks!" Harry said, still trying to feign innocence.

Ron and Hermione departed from the classroom. Harry sat there at his desk pretending to correct his notes until the rest of the students left. Only then did he hurriedly gather his things and make his way to the front of the classroom.

"Er, Professor?"

Lupin jerked his head up from his desk. "Oh!" he exclaimed upon seeing Harry standing there. "Harry! You startled me. Forgive me, but I find my nerves are a bit frayed today."

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized automatically.

"No matter. Now, what can I do for you?" Lupin asked brightly. Now that Harry was closer, he noticed how truly terrible the man looked. Dark circles lined the professor's dull eyes, his skin was terribly ashen, and though he hid it well, Harry noted that Lupin's hands were trembling slightly.

"Um," Harry mumbled, entirely uncertain of how to broach the topic he wanted to discuss. "Uh, are you sure you're alright, Professor?"

Lupin smiled tightly. "Perfectly fine. Just recovering from a bad bout of wizarding flu. Nothing a few nights of good sleep won't fix."

Wizarding flu. Right. Harry shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Um..."

Lupin's smile fell. "Harry? What's the matter?"

Harry's chest clenched and he began to think better of his initial plan. "Um, nothing," he insisted hurriedly. _Stupid._ It wasn't like he could just go and outright ask Lupin if he was a werewolf. What if he wasn't? Merlin, how awkward would _that_ conversation be? Or, worse, what if he _was,_ and Lupin took offense to his question?

Harry bit his lip. It wasn't like he wanted to confirm his suspicions for any malicious reason. If Lupin was a werewolf, Harry wanted nothing more than to assure the professor he had Harry's complete and total support. But how in Merlin's name was he suppose to ask such a delicate sort of question?

His internal conflict must have been obvious, because all at once, Lupin looked horribly alarmed. "What's wrong?" the professor asked again, his voice tight with worry. "Are you alright, Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry replied, trying hard to keep his voice steady. He exhaled shakily, trying unsuccessfully to calm his nerves. "Um, Professor? Can I ask you a question? And can you... can you promise not to get upset about it?"

Lupin's amber colored eyes went wide with open concern. "Of course, Harry," he insisted reassuringly, gesturing for him to take a seat in the chair across from his desk. "I've told you before. You can talk to me about _anything._ Now, for Merlin's sake, sit down and tell me what's got you so bothered."

Harry sunk down in the offered chair and swallowed thickly. "Um... well," he began hesitantly, glancing up at the professor's concerned face and then back down at his lap again. "Well... I was just wondering about something. You can tell me to bugger off if I'm wrong about it, but..."

"Yes?" Lupin pressed insistently when Harry failed to continue.

"Well... it's just... this past week. You were out sick over the full moon." Harry spat out the words before he could think better of them. "And last month... when term first started. You were gone at that Defense conference for a few days. And that was over the full moon too. And I... was just wondering if maybe... you were... a..." Harry allowed his voice to trail off, not wanting to voice the accusation aloud. He snuck a quick peek at Lupin's face to gage his reaction. His stomach instantly sank at the sight.

The professor sat motionless at his desk, face horribly pale and mouth pressed in a thin, tense line. He was staring at Harry unblinkingly and looked absolutely, singularly horrified. Harry had never seen the man look so unnerved. He couldn't help but flinch as Lupin suddenly raised and flicked his wand, spelling the classroom door shut wordlessly.

Shite. Harry felt his heart begin to race as a tendril of primal, raw fear buried itself in his chest. This had been a terrible idea. "Please don't hurt me," he blurted out involuntarily as Lupin made to stand up from his desk, wand still in hand, with that same look of horrible upset plastered on his face.

"What?" Lupin asked, forehead creasing in confusion. All at once, the professor seemed to realize that he was still holding his wand stretched outright. "Oh, Harry, no," the man breathed suddenly, sinking back in his chair and practically throwing his wand on the desk. Harry flinched again at the sudden movement. "Merlin, no. I'm not going to hurt you," Lupin insisted, raising his empty hands to chest level in a show of good faith. "I would never. I swear it."

Harry eyed the professor warily. Swallowing against his suddenly dry mouth, he gave a shaky nod.

Slowly, Lupin lowered his hands so they lay flat on his desk, palms facing upward. "I sincerely apologize. I didn't mean to frighten you," the professor spoke carefully, eyes never leaving Harry's face. "I just didn't want anyone overhearing our conversation."

Oh. Harry supposed that made sense. "Alright," he agreed slowly, shifting nervously in his seat, heart still beating just a bit too fast. "So... um... are you..."

Lupin grimaced. "You may as well go ahead and say it aloud, Harry."

Well, he was fairly convinced that his suspicions were correct now, but Harry gathered his Gryffindor courage and asked the question all the same. "Are you a werewolf?" he spat out in one hurried breath.

Lupin leaned back in his chair, hands never leaving the tabletop. The pair sat in uncomfortable silence for a long moment before the professor gave a small nod of assertion. "Yes, Harry. I am."

Oh. Harry didn't know exactly what he'd been expecting. Some sort of grand revelation, he supposed. But Lupin seemed so matter of fact and resigned about the admission that Harry found himself at a loss for words. "Alright, then," he finally replied when Lupin made no further attempt to speak.

"Was it just the lunar cycles that cued you onto it?"

"Um, actually, Hermione was the first to realize that," Harry admitted tentatively. "But that was mostly it. And a comment that Snape made about taking over your classes. And Hermione noticed that your boggart's a full moon, so that kind of made us suspicious too."

Lupin winced, looking more fatigued than upset now. "Miss Granger is too clever for her own good."

"Yeah, she really is," Harry agreed cautiously.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Um, no. Just Hermione. And Ron," Harry admitted. "But no one else."

Lupin let out a long exhale and raised a hand to rub his forehead. "I was afraid someone would catch on," he admitted quietly, almost to himself. "But I did hope I'd be able to make it through at least one semester of classes without detection. But I suppose two months as a professor is better than nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I hardly think I'll be able to stay on as a professor now. Once the student body finds out about my… affliction, news will soon spread to the parents and there will be demand for my upheaval. In fact, it's probably best I resign now before allowing that to happen."

Harry stomach twisted at the thought. "But, Professor," he argued hurriedly. "I'm not going to tell anyone! And neither will Ron or Hermione. They _promised!"_ Harry decided it would be prudent not to mention that Ron had been somewhat coerced into his silence. "So there's no reason you can't stay on as Defense professor!"

Lupin glanced up at Harry's words, eyes going wide with surprise. "You... what?"

"I won't tell anyone," Harry promised again, utterly sincere. "I swear. It doesn't matter that you're a werewolf. You're a bloody good professor, and I don't want you to quit!"

If possible, Lupin looked nearly as astonished as he had a minute prior when Harry first accused him of being a werewolf. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then clamped it shut again, swallowing thickly. "I... that's very valiant of you, Harry," he spoke after a long moment. "But you hardly need to lie for my sake. I-"

"I'm not lying about anything," Harry interrupted vehemently. "Really! Hermione told me all about that shite- I mean, stuff- some wizards think about werewolves. About how they're bad and Dark and evil, but most of them really aren't! I like you, Professor, and I don't care that you're a werewolf!"

Harry's voice had nearly risen to a yell by the end of his rant. He found himself belatedly thinking that it was a good thing Lupin had spelled the door closed. Across the desk, much to Harry's dismay, the professor looked very near tears.

"I... Harry," Lupin breathed, voice shaky and thick with restrained emotion. "I... I don't know what to say."

Harry flushed. He hadn't meant to make the professor _cry,_ for Merlin's sake. "Er, it's alright, Professor," Harry tried to console the man, who had begun to sniffle disconcertingly.

"Oh, Harry," Lupin addressed him again, voice heavy with gratitude. _"Thank you."_

"Sure," Harry replied mildly, feeling more than a bit uncomfortable now. "Yeah, no problem."

Lupin regarded him with watery eyes. "You truly are your father's son," the man spoke quietly, almost reverently.

 _Your father's son._ "You knew my father?" Harry asked, instantly latching onto the professor's words.

"Yes," Lupin replied, favoring Harry with a soft smile. "I did. We were close during our time at Hogwarts. Myself, your father, and several other Gryffindor boys. We were the very best of friends."

Merlin. First Snape and his mother. Now Lupin and his father. How many other Hogwarts professors had secretly been friends with his parents?

"What was my dad like?" Harry asked the professor tentatively. "I don't know anything about him."

Lupin looked pained by Harry's admission. "He was a wonderful friend. Brave. Charismatic. Loyal. Fiercely protective of those he loved. In fact, he had a very similar reaction as you did when he found out I was a werewolf. Didn't phase him one bit. He and the others actually-" Lupin's voice cut off abruptly before he could finish his sentence.

Harry frowned. "He what, Professor?"

Lupin regarded him cautiously. "...He and the others became Animagi to help me with my transformations."

Animagi... Harry vaguely recalled learning about the term in Transfiguration earlier that year. "So, they could transform into animals?"

"Yes," Lupin replied, smiling fondly at the memory. "When I was a child, there was no way to control my transformations. Nowadays, I take a potion. It leaves my mind and sanity intact during transformations, though my body is still a bit worse for wear afterwards. Back then, there was no way to control the beast except to chain me down and lock me away during every full moon."

"So, my dad..."

"Your father and the others became Animagi. As animals, they were able to safely keep me company when I transformed. They helped me keep my sanity intact. Even though becoming an Animagus is horrendously difficult- not to mention illegal, if you're not registered, which they definitely were not. But James was willing to do whatever it took to make my transformations a bit more bearable."

"Wow," Harry breathed, absolutely floored by this revelation. He had discovered more about his father in the past five minutes than he had during his first thirteen years of life. "What was my father's animagus form, Professor?"

"A stag." Lupin smiled gently. "It was fitting, for him."

The duo sat in companionable silence for a long minute. Finally, Lupin was the first to speak.

"You remind me so much of him, sometimes. Of James and your mother both. You look just like him. Though, as I'm sure you've heard on more than one occasion, you have your mother's eyes."

Harry blinked rapidly, feeling a bit choked up by Lupin's words. "Could... do you think you could tell me more about my parents some time, Professor? I hardly know anything about them at all."

"Of course," Lupin agreed without hesitation. "Of course I can. I feel a bit silly for not offering sooner."

Harry's heart glowed warm in his chest. Yeah. He really liked Lupin. Werewolf or not, he was a good guy. Even his father had thought so. Right then and there, Harry vowed to himself that he would guard Lupin's secret at all costs. He was his father's son, after all. "Thanks, Professor." Harry smiled shyly at the man.

"No. Thank you, Harry," Lupin replied, sounding utterly sincere with his gratitude. "Truly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time to leave kudos or review this story! If you take the time to leave a review especially, THANK YOU! I read and cherish each and every one of them!
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! And I hope no one minds that it was a light on the Snape ;) It can't be all Snape and Harry all the time, and Lupin and Harry having a good mentoring relationship is another one of my favorite things to read/write about. Plus, some plot points in this chapter needed to be set up now to come into play later in the story ;) I've always wondered what would happen if Hermione had shared her werewolf revelation with Ron and Harry earlier in POA, and I'm so excited to get to explore this aspect of the story!  
> 


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